HUNGARIAN REFERENCE 
LIBRARY 




partes felek^ 



HE\ftf YOfiK, H. Y, 
LIBRARY 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 

THE APOSTLE 

GHILDE JOHN 

SIMPLE STEVE 

"CYPRESS LEAVES FROM THE GRAVE OF DEAR ETHEL" 

SELECTEB LYRICS. 



Translated by 

William N. Loew 

Author-Translator of r S, 

Gems from Petofi, Magyar Songs, Magyar Poetry. 

Mikszath's: The Good People of Palocz. 

Madach's: Tragedy of Alan. 

The net proceeds of the sale of this volume are 
dedicated by the publishers, The Hungarian 

Literary Society of New York 

to a fund for the erection of a statue of 

ALEXANDER PETOFI 

in the City of New York. 





1 3 9 6 w 

8 JUL 1953 



LC Control Number 




2001 615563 




PREFACE. 



Alexander P-tofi is Hungary's greatest lyric 
poet and one of the truly great singers of 
sweet song of the civilized world. Grimm the 
great German literary essayist, names Petofi 
as one of the five greatest poets of the world. 

Slowly, but surely his fame grows. If Petofi 
had a translator of his lyrics into English as 
competent as Shakesipeare had to translate his 
dramas into the languages o>f the European 
continent, then Petofi would be^ universally 
recognized as the great poet of all of the 
world's ipoetical literature. 

Many are called — few are Godborn sons of 
song and only a true poet can translate well. 

In the preface to a former volume of mine I 
earnestly protested against being charged with 
the conceit of considering myselif a poet. 

I confessed then and I repeat it here, that I 
do not claim that my heart and soul are warm- 
ed by the holy flame lit by the Muses: — no, 
only my undying love if or my native country, 
my boundless admiration for Petofi inspire 
me to do some "missionary" work in introduc- 
ing him to Anglo-American readers. 

For nearly half a century I have been trying 
to make, him and his poetical genius known 
here in the United States. 



4 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

In the early 70's I wrote for Professor Ras- 
mus Anderson of the University of Wisconsin 
a story of the life of Petofi and sent him a 
dozen or more of my earliest Petofi transla- 
tions. He was to use my contribution as a 
preface to his translation of Petofi's novel 
"The Hangman's Rope". A few years later I 
translated a number of Magyar Folk Songs, 
among them some of Petofi's, for Francis 
Korbay, the foremost resident-musician of 
Magyar birth then living in New York, to be 
used by him in the transcriptions of Magyar 
Folk Songs he was .then publishing. I did 
similar work, later on. for our dear old Edward 
Remenyi and for Maximilian Vogrich. 

Petofi's gloriously great poem "One thought 
torments me" — appeared for the first time in 
the "'Critic", just launched by the late Richard 
Watson Gilder, one of America's great poets. 

In 1881 I published my "Gems from Petofi 
etc." — and in 1883 I lectured before a body of 
Hungarians, at the city of Cleveland, on 
"Alexander Petofi". The committee having 
the lecture in charge published it and devoted 
the proceeds of the sale to a charitable object. 
Even to-day, after twentynine years, there 
still rings in my ear the cheer caused by a 
passage in that lecture of mine which enthused 
my hearers: "Every smile, every tear of his 
was a poem". 

Then I published a volume of "Magyar 
Songs*' and later a volume of "Magyar Poetry", 
two anthologies of Magyar lyrics, both contain- 
ing a number of my Petofi translations. 



PREFACE 5 

Xo one is more thoroughly aware than I am 
of the immense distance between the Magyar 
Petofi and the English Petofi as the latter is 
made knoWn to the reader by my translations. 
However, I claim one merit. My translations 
may not be classic reproductions, may not be 
poetic creations showing Petofi's true genius, 
however, I think, that I succeeded in produc- 
ing — con amore — faithful photographs. 

English students of Magyar literature will 
in the course of time do better and at some 
future day all of the world shall recognize the 
truth of John H. Ingram's opinion: "Petofi is 
the world's greatest lyric poet, he who, to my 
mind is more the representative spirit and soul 
o.f Hungary than any man has yet been of that 
country." 

Until, however, Petofi has the good fortune 
to find a Bayard Taylor or a H. W. Long- 
ifellow to make him feel at home in Anglo- 
American literature, the undersigned thought 
best to do something to counterefffect the pos- 
sible opinion of the English literary world of 
(Petofi's worth and value as a 'poet, if based 
solely on the alleged translations of Sir John 
Bowring . 

Fortunately there are other Petofi trans- 
lators. E. D. Butler, Henry PMlipips jr. (an 
American) and Frederick Walter Fuller have 
done magnifficient work, but all the three put 
together have given only — I think — a score or 
so of Petofi's songs to England and America. 



6 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

_ Petofi's recognition by England and Ame- 
rica as the world's great lyric poet is still to 
come. 

He had German, French and Italian trans- 
lators who endeared 'him to their respective 
countries and enriched their own literatures 
by giving them a Petofi of their own. 

If .my ipresent work adds but a single leaflet 
to the wreath of immortality of his high fame 
"which nothing- can cover out heaven", then 
indeed I am a proud and happy man. 

"The Apostle" is a dream of Petofi's, "a 
series of boldly drawn pictures," an epic poem 
of democratic convictions. Petofi's conception 
10 f the world might be summed up thus : "Man- 
kind is continually developing. A grape is a 
small thing, yet it requires a whole summer 
to ripen it. How many thousands of sunrays 
have touched a single berry. How many mil- 
lions may the world need! The rays which 
ripen the world are the -souls of men. E*rery 
great soul is such a ray — " 

"Childe John" is the most truly Magyar 
fabulous fairy story ever told. 

"Simple Steve" is — — 'Petofi, the light- 
hearted, easy going, goodnatured, loveable and 
loving youth, full of animal spirit, with a 
heart of gold. 

These three epics are not "the great epics" 
of Magyar literature, but they are perfect 
gems of Petofian view of life, humor, pathos. 

The "Cylpress Leaves from dear Ethel's 



PREFACE 7 

Grave" are heartrending outbursts of a grief 
at the loss of one sweetheart, soon exchanged 
for another, who then inspired him to sing 
other rhapsodies of love... 

The hundred odd "selected lyrics" added to 
to these aforenamed translations, make a fairly 
representative volume of an English Petofi. 

In December 1910 I lectured before a 
Magyar Society, "The First Hungarian Liter- 
ary Society of New York City", an ambitious 
body of young Magyar-Americans. I spoke 
in memory of Coloman Mikszath, Hungary's 
great humorous writer, the Marki Twain of 
my native land. 

In the course of my remarks I said : "Mik- 
szath was to Francis Deak's Hungary what 
Petofi had been to the Hungary of Kossuth"; 
and speaking then of Petofi, I suggested the 
propriety of a movement to be undertaken by 
them, — the members of the Hungarian Society 
I was then addressing — to erect here, in New 
York City, a statue in honor of Alexander 
Petofi, the great Jbard of love and liberty. 

The suggestion was enthusiastically acted 
upon. A committee was appointed entrusted 
with the carrying out the idea. This volume 
is my contribution to that monument. The 
"Hungarian Literary Society of New York" 
accepted my contribution and undertook the 
publication of the volume, the net proceeds of 
the sale thereof going to the "Monument- 
Fund". 



8 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

As an interesting- historical fact I must be 
allowed to mention here, that Alexander Pe- 
tofi's original "Cypress Leaves From the 
Grave of Dear Ethel" was first published by 
a patriotic society, the "Nemzeti Casino", in- 
duced to do so at the suggestion of Michael 
Vorosmarty, whose opinion as to Petofi's 
(poetical genius was more readily accepted by 
the magnates of the Magyar Casino, than by 
the Magyar publishers of Pest, who were not 
willing to print the poems of a then unknown 
author. 

The net proceeds of the sale of the second 
edition of the "Cypress Leaves" Petofi dedic- 
ated to a charitable object. 

Let me hope, that by the time the literary 
world celebrates the centenary of Petofi's 
birthday, the Magyar Societies of Xew York 
and if tue United States, assisted by the lovers 
of song of all other races, will gather around 
that statue, then already erected, to place 
wreaths of laurel upon the pedestal of his 
monument, and that in the hearts of the 
thousands then and there assembled will re- 
echo Petofi's famous song: 

"Freedom and love 

Are dear to me: 

My life I give 

Sweet love for thee 

Yet love I give 

For liberty!" 
New Yorik, March 15th, 1912. 

WM. N. LOEW. 



THE APOSTLE 



THE APOSTLE. 



i. 

The town is dark. The night o'er it is spread, 

In other climes to shine the moon has fled, 

And every star on high 

Has closed his golden eye; 

Black as the borrowed conscience is from wear 

So black the aspect that the world does bear. 

One tiny little light 

Is glimmering on yon height; 

And like a sick man's glaring eyes, 

Or like a dying hope that flies, 

That flickering light to flare up tries. 



The midnight oil it is, in garret-room. 

Who is it watches at that lamp's pale gloom? 

Who can it be? You wish to know? 

Two famous brothers they, — Virtue and Woe. 

So great the misery, it has hardly space 

To stir' in that lone, God-forsaken place. 

Just like a swallow's nest, it is so small, 

The very squalor of it doth apall. 

The four walls are all gruesome and all bare, 

That is to say, had not the moldy air 

Adorned them all o'er with spot and stain. 

And had from leaky roof the pouring rain 

Not painted them with streaks, that would be true, 

The rain here drew 

Of darkest hue 

A thick line, which 

Looks like in rich 



10 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Men's homes the bell-rope near the door. 

The air is foui, the walls outpour 

A tainted, putrid breath. 

It might cause e'en the death 

Of rich men's pets, the dogs, if they 

In kennels like this had to stay. 

A table and a bed-stead of cheap stuff, — 
Which for a rag-fair wouldn't be good enough, — 
Upon the bed, a bag filled up with straw, 
jTwo broken chairs you near the table saw, 
Then a moth-eaten trunk; — and that was all 
You that room's complete furnishing could call. 

Who lives in here? The lamp's faint light 
Copes with the darkness of the night. 
Obscured, dim is the window-pane, 
As are dream-pictures, one in vain 
In memory tries to retain. 

Deceives the lamp's faint light the eye? 
Are those whom here we can espy 
Made by the light so ghastly, van, 
Or are they ghosts we look upon? 
The answer is a moan and sigh. 

Upon the trunk we first behold 

A mother, whose thin arms enfold 

Her babe. Poor, miserable child! 

The mother's barren breasts beguile*! 

Its craving hunger and it cries 

And weakly whines, in vain it tries 

Sweet milk to suck from hollow breast. 

The mother's very looks attest 

Her painful thoughts. As melting snow 

Drops from the roof to street below: 

As freely flows her burning tear 

Upon her crying baby dear. 

Or can it be that she is not 

Thinking at all? Her tears flow, but 

As if it were a thing of course, 



THE APOSTLE 11 

As is tlie spring's flow from, its source? 

Her older child, thank God 's asleep, 

— I Or seems to be; well, it does not weep, — 

Upon the bed, close to the wall, 

Spread over him 's a ragged shawl. 

The straw peeps out from 'neath the spread. 

Sleep, little boy! Of golden thread 

May angels weave a dream most sweet: 

Dream that a slice of bread you eat! 

A man, still young, the father he, 

Sits at the table in deep gloom. 

The cloud, we on his forehead see, 

Is it that which gives to the room 

This aspect of a living tomb? 

That forehead seems an open page, 

Telling of wars he had to wage 

With' all the ills of cruel fate. 

That forehead plainly shows the weight 

Of care and woe which were his share. 

Beneath that dark forehead, a pair 

Of lustrous eyes brilliantly shine, 

Like beauteous stars which illumine 

The heavenly dome. Bold, fearless eyes, 

Which strength and force do signalise. 

It seemed as if his thought 

Some mighty distance sought, 

Had risen high, 

Up to the sky 

Where eagles fly. 



II. 

Through all the world the deepest silence reigns, 
Within the room death's deepest calm obtains. 
Without, the autumn wind the air has stirred, 
Within, the mother's woeful sigh is heard. 

The little boy, arising in the bed, 

Leans to the wall his weary, aching head; 



12 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

With tearful voice, as came it from the grave, 

Begins now for something to eat to crave. 

"I am so hungry, father dear, oh, please, 

Give me some bread my hunger to appease. 

I tried to sleep; believe me, I have tried 

With sleep my hungry state from you to hide. 

Oh! give me please, or show me but a piece, 

E'en the sight of bread might my hunger ease." 

"Wait till to-morrow morn, my darling boy. 

Thou shallt a piece of white bread then enjoy, 

White bread, baked \vith the sweet milk of the cow." 

"I rather have a crust of black bread now, 

Than, father dear, to-morrow an}- kind. 

That I am dead, to-morrow, you might find. 

I'm dying now; to-morrow 's far away. 

You 've said "to-morrow" now many a day, 

'Tis always but to-day, and hungry I. 

Oh, tell me father dear, when once we die. 

Still hungry we when in the grave we lie?" 

"No, darling child, oh no! 

The dead no hunger know.** 

"Then, father dear, it is best dead to be, 

Then father, find a white coffin for me. 

Let it be white as is my mother's face, 

And carry me to that good resting place 

Where the happy dead. 

Hunger not for bread." 

Who says that children are but innocent? 

Wfhere is the dagger, where .the sword, that sent 

To human heart a wound so sore, — 

And pierced it to its very core, — 

As did to the poor father's heart 

The son's complaint? No stabbing dart 

Could make it bleed so free, as did 

That speech. Oh! how he tried to bid 

His iheart to keep still, but in vain! 

He can't his ardent tears retain. 

So burning they, that with a start 

He puts his hand up to 'his face. 

To see, is it blood of his heart 



THE APOSTLE 13 

That spurted there. Not in the days 

Of bitter woe did he complain. 

But now, resentment which had' lain 

Dormant' for years, breaks forth: Oh, God! 

Why dids't thou mould me from the clod, 

Why not have left me in a state 

Of nothingness? Why dids't create 

This body and this soul, which long 

To be but dust again? How wrong 

That I, according to Thy plan, 

Have offspring, but being a man 

Cannot, as can the Pelican, 

My children with my heart's-blood feed? 

I dare not in this strain proceed, 

I bow, my God, it is Thy deed! 

We men are blind, Thy plans divine 

Man cannot grasp, and Thy design 

We must not judge. Into this sea 

Of life to put me hath pleased Thee, 

And, as a magnet, to control 

My life, thou gavest me a soul. 

I bow and I obey! — Here, boy, 

Here is a slice of bread. — ■ Enjoy 

It now; it is the last; God knows 

What wilt thou then to-morrow eat." 

And eagerly the boy arose 

And ate that slice of bread so sweet. 

What did he care that it was dry? 

As shines at night the flitting firefly 

So shone with bliss the boy's bright eye. 

When with his feast the boy was through 

He promptly went to sleep anew; 

Sleep came with ease, as comes the mist 

Over the vale the dawn hath kissed. 

And lying down in his wont place, 

He sleeps and dreams, a smile his face 

Lights up. What dream might he have had? 

Of death? or did he dream of bread? 

The mother had gone on to weep, 

Until she also fell asleep 

She laid down first the baby too, 



14 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Her arm around her children threw,... 
And sleeps and dreams her woes subdue. 

The husband from his seat arose. 

On tiptoes to the bed he goes, 

With folded arms he casts his eye 

O'er those he l<5Ves. Then with a sigh 

He says: — as were he thinking loud. — 

"At last, my dears, nature allowed 

Sweet, soothing sleep to come to you. 

Ah! dream-life has a rosy hue. 

Asleep you are freed of the weight 

You had to bear by curse of fate. 

Good God! That sleep should love them more 

Than I! Sleep had for them in store 

Sweet 'happiness, which I could not 

Secure to them as their life's lot. 

But let it pass, — they're happy now, 

Peace, blissful peace is on each brow, 

It is a beauteous sight. 

Beloved ones, good night!" 

And then he kissed the foreheads of the three, 

They are his home-life's holy Trinity. 

His hands he raiseth his dear ones to bless 

(Ah! that his hands naught else to give possess i> 

He then returns to his abandoned seat. 

Once more he casts his eye over his sweet 

Group on the bed, — such tender, loving gaze 

That, though asleep, it yet to them conveys 

Dreams where an angel with fair roses plays. 

And then he looked into the gloomy night. 
His look is bold: it seemed as with the bright 
Look he had tried the night to fill with light. 



III. 

Where might have roamed the man's wakeful soul? 
What path to find had been the thinker's goal? 



THE APOSTLE 15 

His mind is soaring in the high, 
Where in delusive dreams to fly 
The demigods and lunatics try. 

Just like a bird breaks from her shell, 

On wings arises high in air: 
So did he cast off and dispel 

His woeful sorrow and his care. 
The mortal man in him was dead. 
The citizen in him instead 

Had come to life. 

Whose heart for wife 

And children sweet 

With love replete 
Had been a few moments ago, 
Hath now a ; heart with love aglow 
For all humanity; who held 
The three dear ones that with him dwelled 

In his loving embrace, 

Loves now the human race. 
His soul's wings soared far up on high, 
Whence like a dot upon an "r" 
Earth seemed to be. When in the vast 
Immensity his soul flew past, 
The stars ' light flickered as when breath 
A candle's light encountereth. 

It flew and flew; 
A million miles and more afar 
Is in the sky star from the star, 

Yet through the blue 
Vast space it flew, and as the horse 
Which through a forest takes its course 
Leaveth behind the countless trees, 
So did his soul pass by with ease 
And leave behind the countless stars. 

It meets naught which its bold flight bars. 
And when a myriad stars it passed 
And left behind and wtfien at last 



16 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

It reached, — was it the world's end? 

No! When it was given to him to stand 

In the centre of the universe . 

At last to hold with Him converse 

Whose glance to worlds brings death or life, 

Whose power's proclaimed by tempests' strife, 

By myriad orbs which round Him course, 

Whose wondrous wisdom and whose force 

The wisest mind can never trace: 

The soul, surcharged; lit up by Grace 

Divine, laved in His glorious light, — ■ 

Just as is the white swan's delight 

To dip into the waters of the lake, — 

"Hail Thee! Almighty God!" it spake, 

"A grain of sand, Lord, made by thee, 

I come full of humility 

To kneel here in Thy saintly shrine. 

Oh pray, believe that I am Thine, 

And Thine alone! I don't complain. 

The dread fate that Thou didst ordain 

For me is hard, I bless Thee e'en, I know 

By it to be Thy chosen one. 

O, God! The human race upon 

The earth has turned its face from Thee, 

Degenerates, and slaves to be 

Prefers to manhood proud and free. 

The parent of all sin and vice 
Is serfdom. Men will idolise 
Men, and by bending neck and knee 
Before a man, defy but Thee. 
This cannot ever continue thus, 
Thou shalt yet reign Most Glorious! 
One life, Lord, Thou hast given me, — 
I ask not what reward shall be, — 
If any, — mine, the meanest man 
Will for his pay do all he can; 
I want no pay, I hope for none, 
I faithfully my work "have done 
.Till now and shall hereafter do, 
Ah well! I shall receive my due! 



THE APOSTLE 17 

A rich reward, for can there be 
Reward more rich than feel that free 
My fellow men became through me! 
For I still love my fellow man, 
Though sin still holds him in its ban. 
O Lord, O God! Pray give me strength 
That I accomplish my intent. 
Man must be free! That is my plan." 

Thus spoke the soul, and from the dome 

Of heaven high it flew back home, 

Into that dismal, dreary room, 

Back to the soulless man i to whom 

It brought back consciousness. — He stirred. 

Was it a dream? What had occured? 

He felt all chilled, yet from his brow 

The burning sweat-drops roll, and how 

A — weary, sleepy is he now! — ■ 

He .must' have been awake before. — 

And to the mattress on the floor 

He drags himself and goes to sleep. 

And there he lies upon that heap 

Of straw, who but a while ago 

In (heaven had been. — On cushions fine 

Humanity's hangmen recline; 

The world's benefactor he i, j 

Upon the floor asleep we see. 

And lo! The flick'ring lamp once more 

Flares up and then its sick and sore 

Life dies. And just as secrets told 

By lip to lip will quick unfold: 

Thus cleared the night. The early dawn — 

The merry garden maid,— had drawn 

Bright roses with the hue of bloom 

On wall and window of that room. 

The first rays of the rising sun 

Fell on the sleepers forehead, spun 

A wreath of gold around 'his brow, 

And then it seemed Great God, that Thou 

Hadst with these rays just kissed Thy son. 



18 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

IV. 

Who art thou apparition marvelous? 

The raiment of thy soul 's a regal cloak, 

Thy body though is clad in threadbare rags. 

Thou and thy dear ones miss their daily food 

And if perchance a piece of soft, black bread 

To bring home to thy table bare of cloth 

Thou didst succeed, it marked a holiday. 

Those whom thou lovest best thou canst support, 

But eager art for all the world to toil. 

To enter heaven on high is given to thee, 

But barred before thee is the rich man's door. 

Who with the Lord on High hast had converse 

Rebuffed wert, spokest thou to some great man 

Who with contempt looks on thy shabby form. 

Some people say, that an Apostle he, 

Some say he is a miserable wretch. 

Who art t'hou? Knowest them who gave thee birth? 

Are they, thy parents, proud to hear thy name 

Or causeth it their face to burn with shame? 

Tell us, where wert thou born? On velvet couch, 

Or in a manger, on a heap of straw? 

Shall I the story of his life now tell? 

I will; but if I were to paint the same 

I would describe it as a brook, which sprang 

From unknown rock where croaking ravens dwell. 

At every inch it flows o'er rock and stone, 

Its murmur is the groan of constant pain. 



The town-clock's tongue proclaimed the midnight 

hour. 
It was a dreary cruel winter night. 
The two mean despots of such nights prevailed, — 
One is the darkness and the cold its twin, — 
The world was all indoors, for no one dared 
To tempt God and be out at such a time! 



THE APOSTLE 19 

The streets, on which a short hour ago 
A mass of people thronged, are empty now, 
As is the river's bed which has run dry. 
In the abandoned streets, one lunatic, 
— The gale, — roameth about. It rides as fast 
As if the devil had sat astride on him 
And urged 'him on and on with spurs of fire. 
All angrily he leaps from roof to roof, 
Blows into every chimney he, might meet; 
He then resumes his flight and with full throat 
He yells loud into the blind night's deaf ears. 
He grasps the clouds which on his way he found. 
With sharpened nail he tears them into shreds. 
The stars above affrighted seem to be, 
Betwixt the shreds of clouds tremblingly shine. 
The pale moon glides upon the heaven's dome 

As floats a lifeless corpse upon a lake 

The gale, to catch its breath, a moment stopped, 
Into a mighty mass then blew the clouds, 
And from the height, just like a bird erf prey, 
It swooped down to the eart'h: uprooted trees, 
Broke window panes and carried fences off. 
When it had roused the people with its noise, 
Who, frightened, looked wfoat happened, it was gone 
And they but hear its ghastly laughter's voice. 
Depopulated are the storm-swept streets; 
Who would be out at such a time! — But no! 
There goes a -human form. Is it a ghost? 

Yes, it approaches like a ghost. When near 

And nearer still it came a female form 

One recognizes, but to know her state 

The secret of fhe darkness it remained: 

Is she a lady or a mendicant? 

Approaching, cautiously she looks around. 

There at the curb she notes a cab to stop, 

Sees on the seat the driver sound asleep. 

With noiseless step she draweth near. To steal? 

Oh, no! Just the reverse. She opens the door, 

Put in the cab w'hat she bore in her arms, 

Then carefully again she shuts the door 



20 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



And quickly, as thoughts fly, she disappears. 
The house-door where the cab stood opens soon, 
A lady and a gentleman come forth, 
Get in, the driver promptly whips it up, 
Is off with rapid gait and never 'hears 
The lady's piercing scream, who at her feet 
Has found a bundle which contained a babe'. 

The cab its destination reached and stopped, 
The lady and the gentleman descend, 
The lady to the driver says: "Here man, 
"Here is your fare, the tip is in the cab: 
"A bouncing newborn babe; take care of him 
"A gift from heaven to you he seems to be." 
Said it and with the man entered the house. 



Poor, God-forsaken foundling in that cab! 

Why wert not born a dog? Her Ladyship 

Would on her lap have gladly played with you, 

And petted, played with you with loving care. 

Unfortunately though you are no dog, 

A human being art. God only knows 

Is bright, is dark the fate for you in store? 

The driver only scratched his head and ear, 

Then murmured something, but it is not known 

Did he a prayer say, or did he curse. 

The gift of God was not welcome to him. 

He ponders deeply what he is to do? 

Should he the bastard to the stables take? 

Dared he to do this, he felt pretty sure 

The irate boss would throw it at his head, 

Kick both into the street, he'l lose his job. 

What 's to be done? His whip comes fiercely down 

And off he drives at a most rapid rate. 

While driving through the outskirts of the town, 

A hostelry he saw. There's life within, 

The window's red light 's like a drunkard's nose. 

The driver could not wish for better chance, 

Upon its threshold puts the gift of God, 

And then resumes his drive towards his home. 



THE APOSTLE 21 

Just then, one of the drunken crowd within, 

Himself quite full, good-night said to his friends. 

While stepping o'er the threshold of the inn 

He stumbleth and he 'hurries deep his nose 

Into the frozen snow. In Billingsgate 

His injured dignity finds prompt relief. 

Then says: "That threshold grew since yesterday. 

Had it been yesterday as high as now 

I would have had to fall then too. I didn't. 

Still I did not drink one more drop to-day. 

I have my principles, I am exact, 

And every day I drink the same amount." 

Such was his monologue as he arose. 

He starts to go, but murmurs to himself 

'Tis all in vain, I don't care what you say 

That threshold must have grown since yesterday. 

I won't give in, I know whereof I speak, 

Did I drink more to-day than yesterday? 

And yet I fell to-day. Shame and disgrace. 

I say that threshold grows. But no! Hold on! 

Might not a stone have been put in my way? 

That might well be the case. The world is mean, 

Some men are very bad, yes, very bad, 

And glad to see a fellow-being fall; 

Put stones into my way, my feet are blind 

And my poor nose must pay the penalty. 

My consolation is when they come out 

Who still carouse in there, they too must fall. 

I have a mind to hide myself somewhere 

To see them stumbling, falling! Ha, ha, ha! 

What's that? Hold on old man! Ain't you ashamed 

To feel elated o'er your fellows ills? 

To show repentance I shall now go back 

And I'll remove that stone. I am a thief, 

A robber, and I more than once have hit 

Men o'er the head so that they never rose. 

My conscience how'er does not allow 

To see men break their noses as did I. 

The good, old drunken man then, totters back 

The stone to pick up, he do.es pick it up, 

But ah! He looks at it. What's that? It screams. 



22 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



The hoary man indeed dumbfounded is, 

And all amazed he thus speaks to himself: 

"By thund'rous lightning from above! What's this? 

No stone like this was ever in my hands. 

'Tis soft and then it has a human voice 

Let's by the window look at it. Ho ho! 

It is a child, a real and living child. 

Good evening brother dear, or sister sweet, 

I know not which you are, a boy? a girl? 

How in the devil's name did you come here? 

You ran away from home? You rascal you! 

What nonsense is this stupid talk of mine. 

The little one is still in swaddling clothes. 

Did I the parents know I'd take it back. 

What mean, contemptible, what brutal thing 

To cast one's offspring off as one discards 

A worn-out boot. Xo hog does ever this. 

Not e'en the outlaw for the gallows fit. 

The wraps are threadbare, 'tis poor people's child. 

Suppose, that just to hide its rich descent 

It had been with intent put into rags? 

Forevermore, this must secret remain. 

Poor child! who will your father be? I will! 

Why not? Yes, Henceforth I your father am. 

I'll bring you up all right! I'll steal for you, 

And when through age my hand can no more steal 

— It is but fair, — you shall then steal for me. 

Henceforth my thefts shall be more justified, 

I'll have to steal for two, for my little son, 

My conscience, too. shall now bother me less. 

But let me see! You need a mother's breast. 

Just now that is the most important thing. 

Oh, yes! that woman living near my rooms 

Buried but yesterday her new-born babe. 

She'll gladly nurse my child, of course she will 

For money she would nurse the devil's own." 

Such were his thoughts while slow T ly home he went. 
Through narrow lanes and hidden paths he walked 
To his own subterranean dark cave. 



THE APOSTLE 23 

His neighbor he aroused by knocking loud 
And louder still, upon her door. "Get up!" 
He yelled and almost battered down her door. 

"Come woman, hurry up!" the old man plead. 

"Light up a candle quick, don't ask: for what? 

For whom? and why? If you don't hurry up 

I'll burn the house up o'er your lazy bones. 

Well, well at least! and thanks, here is the light, 

Now take this babe, sit down, give him your breast. 

Ah, nurse it well! How does it come to me? 

I found it on my way, God's gift to me. 

I always said it: God is good to me. 

God loves me more than Priests might think He does 

This baby here a precious treasure is, 

I place it, woman, now into your care; 

And more attention than you gave your own 

Give this one or I'll have something to say. 

Of course for all expense you look to me, 

We will agree how much I'll have to pay. 

While it is true that money now is scarce, — 

The dickens knows, all men seem argus-eyed, — 

Don't worry, I shall pay you like a prince. 

Let me impress you though; take care of it, 

As if it were the apple of your eye, 

It is the hope of my declining days." 

They bargained and agreed. She took the child, 

Which sucked with eager greed the proferred breast, 

Imbibed sweet nurture for a bitter life. 

Just one day old and what has it gone through! 

And still will have to go through all its life! 



VI. 

Next day, at early hour, the old man called 
Upon the woman. — "Well, 'how is your guest?" 
He asks her eagerly, — "but Brrr! 't is cold! 
Quick, build a fire! Must I forever swear? 
I stand for all expense! But — by the way, — 



24 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

You didn't tell. Is it a boy or girl?" 

— "It is a boy. a strong and health}- boy. 

Yes. sir, a finer boy I never saw." 

"So much the better. In eight years from now, 

He'll be as fine a thief as was the one 

"Who with our Jesus Christ was crucified. 

I'll take his education in my hands, 

And make of him the most successful thief. 

That far-famed thief, who but few days ago 

Upon the gallows died. — (You knew Blind Tom? 

I brought him up! There was a clever thief! 

On one eye blind himself, a thousand eyes 

"Watched all in vain when Blind Tom was aroused. 

My boy, fear naught. I swear I'll not make you 

A swineherd or some common thing like that! 

But, my good woman, I almost forgot! 

The boy must have a decent Christian name! 

A name which he'll make famed throughout 

the world. 
Come, dear old girl, help me to find a name. 
On Saint Sylvester eve I found the boy 
Why not give him that name? Let's baptize him, 
Let him a Christian, not a heathen be. 
Saint Peter at the gate, when once my boy' 
Casts off his mortal coil, must find no fault. 
I'll be the Priest, the god-mother you'll be. 
Is there some water in that pot? There is. 
Come, hold the boy, — but no! The priestly garb 
Is most essential; wait. There is that bag, 
I hang it as a cassock 'round my neck." 
And then with mock solemnity, the boy 
Was jocularly christened and received 
Sylvester as his first and lawful name. 



VII. 

Four years have passed. To boyhood grew the babe, 
There in the darkness, in the cave, he grew 
By vice surrounded and by vermin plagued. 
He did not breathe the heaven's balmy air, 



THE APOSTLE 25 

The beauty of the fields he never saw. 

He lived, he moved about, but was like dead. 

The old man found in him his great delight. 
For brain and aptitude he plainly showed, 
As from the flint spring sparks. The old man knew 
It is the spark which makes the fires ignite. 

Four years of age — and he had learned to steal: 

Fruit from a stand and coins from blind man's hats. 

For each such deed the old man praised him high, 

Rewarded him with some token of love. 

The same time he would reprimand him, too, 

The days on which the boy brought nothing home, 

These days, however, were now very rare. 

The hopes and expectations of the man 

Grew day by day and on his day-dreams' rocks 

He built the finest castles in the air. 

He built them high, until himself was caught, 

The good old man, the thoughtful guardian, — 

Until he swung himself, up in the air, 

The ripe fruit of the tree as "gallows" known. 

The woman Who had nursed and fed the boy 

Was present when the hangman made the knot 

Which made her friend and benefactor swing 

Upon the gallow's beams, hanged by the neck, 

His tongue protrudes as had he stuck it out 

To show his own contempt at all the world 

For dealing with him thus. When all was o'er, 

The beldame goeth home and to the boy 

With gentlest, sweetest voice she spoke like this: 

"Get ready boy, the devil can take you now, 

And in the name of God now go to hell. 

Who for your keep had paid is gone there too. 

Now that his payments stop, I too must stop 

To feed you, and my boy you have to go! 

I shall be kind enough to you once more, 

I take you to the corner of the street; 

If you come back, I'll drown you in the ditch." 



26 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The little boy did not grasp all she said. • 

When lead away and told to go: he went. 

By instinct he obeyed and never turned 

But walked and walked from street to street. 

He never yet had been so far from home, 

All that his eyes beheld was new to him. 

The splendid shops, the marvelous displays 

And men and women clad in wondrous style. 

Amazed 'he looked at thousands of new things. 

One street leads him into another street 

And never reached the outskirts of the town. 

From marching long, from marveling great deal 

He had grown tired. A curbstone proffers rest. 

Contented leans on it ihis weary head. 

From where he sits, he sees some boys at play, 

He smiles and thinks their toys are also his 

And that he himself is their welcome chum. 

He watched their play until he fell asleep.' 

He had a good long sleep, then in a dream 

Saw two red burning sparks acoming near 

And nearer still, intent to burn his eyes.. 

He shrieked with fright and suddenly awoke. 

Late night was on, the stars on high shone bright, 

The streets were empty, but before him stood 

A hag, whose glaring eyes the boy feared more 

Than he had feared the sparks his dream had seen. 

The curbstone he -holds fast, he is afraid 

To look at her or turn his eyes away. 

The hag though, pats him in a friendly way, 

And gently as is given to her to be, 

She asks of him: "What is your name, my boy? 

Who are your parents? and where do you live? 

Shall I escort you home? Come, take my hand. 

"Sylvester is my name, I have no one 

I father, motiher call. I never had. 

I was first found upon the public street. 

The woman said: Never again come home, 

If you come back, I'll drown you in the ditch." 

'"Then come, my darling boy, then come with me. 
A loving mother I shall be to you." 



THE APOSTLE 27 

The woman then took by the hand the boy, 
Who meekly followed her wonderingly 
And knowing not what had happened to him. 
"See, my dear boy, this is our home", s'he said 
When she had reached her home. "This room 

is mine, 
The kitchen here shall henceforth be your home. 
You will not lonely be, my pet dog here, — ■ 
A nice dog, is he not? — will share with you 
This carpet, it is big enough for both. 
It is a splendid bed, you cannot ask 
A better one. The dog will keep you warm. 
Be not afraid of him, he does not bite, 
He is a gentle dog. You will be friends. 
See him looking at you, wagging his tail. 
I have no doubt you will each other like, 
As if you brothers were. Now go to sleep. 
You want something to eat? It is not good 
That children eat at night. In awful dreams 
And nightmares devils tease them in their sleep." 
Miuch better'tis, go nicely now to sleep." 
The miserable hag left him alone. 
With terror trembling he lay down at last 
Upon the' carpet's edge, but not too close 
To his companion. The dog howe'er 
Crawled up to him in a most friendly way. 
The animal's bright eye shone in the night 
And courage, confidence conveyed to him. 
The boy petted the dog which licked his face. 
The boy e'en spoke to him, for a reply 
The dog whined and the two were soon good friends. 



Upon the morn thus spoke the dame to him: 
"Listen to me, my boy, you'll clearly see 
I cannot keep you here without some pay. 
Not e'en the grave of Christ is being watched 
For nothing, You will have to go to work. 
The Bible even says: W|ho do not work 
Get naug'ht to eat. Your work will easy be, 
You shall have nothing else to do but beg. 



28 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Tarn too worn to work and I have grown too fat 
The men are heartless and they chase me off 
If I for alms stretch out my greasy hands. 
Now you must beg for me, when men see you 
Their hearts must move in tender sympathy 
And freely give their mite. You'll have to say 
Your father died, your mother 's ill at home, 
I'll watch you from the distance and I say 
If you heed my commands you will fare well. 
Be careful boy, I'm good when I am good, 
But I am very mean when I am mean. 
Remember this and never let it pass 
Out of your mind. You will abegging go. 
You will stretch out your hand to everyone 
Who's better dressed than you, and I'll look out 
That those j^ou meet shall all be of this class. 
You'll drop your head upon one side like this, 
Your eyebrows draw up, see — , as I do now, 
Your eyelids must be always moist and then 
You whine and whimper: "In the name of Christ 
Please help! My father's dead, my mother's sick," 
Did you catch on? You'll have to learn the art, 
Or with a ,cane I beat it in your head." 

The boy said he has understood her well, 
He'll not forget it and he will not fail. 
She made 'him try to do the trick, and lo! 

She was amazed how clever was his work. 

"A gold mine I have found in you, my boy, 
Bravo! Henceforth we'll lead a princely life. 
A princely life is ours!" the witch exclaimed. 
"Let's to the harvest go. Would you first eat? 
You'll eat when we come back, 'tis better then; 
'Tis anyhow the best you don't eat much, 
You'll grow too fat and who does sympathise 
With beggar boys who are well fed and fat, 
To beggars who are fat come meager alms." 
The two then went into a busy street, 
The hag assigned him to a certain spot, 
Herself went into a gin mill near by 






THE APOSTLE 29 

From whence she watched the boy and foully 

grinned 
And raised her whiskey glass whene'er she saw 
Him harvesting the mite of charity. 



VIII. 



Two years, one like the other slowly passed, 

The boy did naught, — the beldame took good care, — 

But beg for alms and suffer hunger's pangs. 

To famish and to beg thafs all he knew 

Of life. When he saw children at their play, 

He'd stare at them and think: it must be good 

To be allowed to play and joyous be. 

Froim day to day his mind grew more mature 

And he began to feel his misery. 

Two years he had thus lived: a begger boy. 

There was no longer need with artful trick 

To wet his eyelids, his hot-burning tears 

Flowed oft enough to suit the old hag's aims. 

He had one friend, but one who had been kind, 
Who seemed to love him, whom he really loved, 
With whom he shared the food received at home, 
Or which he found while wandering through town, 
His sleeping-mate, the dog, was this one friend. 

When in the morn the boy would go away 

His heart was sore, all day he longed for him. 

Returning in the eve he was all joy. 

The woman soon -had truly jealous grown, 

Yes, jealous of the love the dog had shown 

To him, the boy, and was estranged from her. 

She often whipped the dog and when with pain 

It whined, the boy heartrendingly would cry. 

At last she chased tfhe animal away 

And more than once she drove it from the house. 

The faithful beast, though, always would come back, 

And was the more attached to our poor boy. 



30 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

Thus lived the boy. He was six years of age, 

Woe of six centuries had been his share, 

The moments' bliss were far and far between. 

He stood once on the corner of a street, 

Chilled through and through, it was late in the fall, 

A nasty autumn eve, mire on the earth, 

The air filled with a heavy, chilling fog. 

And there he stood, — his head and feet were bare, 

With tearful voice imploring passers-by 

And stretching forth his bony, yellow hand. 

His plaintive voice, when heard by human hearts 

Oft seemed to have the mournful toll of bells 

Which to the last rites in the churchyard called. 

A hoary man with earnest, solemn face 

Came up to him, stood still and looked at him 

For quite a while with sharp and piercing eyes. 

The boy took fright, made start to run away, 

A rough command: "stop boy!" prevents his flight, 

The boy stood still, he did not dare to breathe. 

"Are your parents -alive?" he is then asked. 

"My-My", — he was about to say his say 

About his mother who is ill at home, 

And hungry, too; the father who just died, 

But to the solemn looking earnest man 

He did not dare to lie; he thought the man 

Knew anyhow the truth and he replied: 

"Are my parents alive? I do not know, 

I never knew, I was found in the street." 

"Then come with me", the old man to him said. 

Obedient, the boy followed his steps. 

The old hag came forth from her hiding place 

And yelled: "Come here, lying, deceitful boy, 

My dear, good Sir, this boy here is my own." 

"Dear, gracious Sir," — the boy began to plead, 

"Dear gracious Sir, believe, I'm not her son. 

Please in the name of God and all the Saints 

O, save me, please, take me along with you. 

I am so tired to do naught else than beg; 

I always begged for her, I had to starve 

That I might always look as I do now. 

That those who look at me might pity me. 



THE APOSTLE 31 

God! how hungry I am even now!" 

Thus spoke the boy, he looked up to the man 
With pleading eyes which were suffused with tears. 
"You God-forsaken wretch! You devil's imp!" 
— Berated him the witch, — "You heartless cur, 
You good-for-notning, vile and worthless shrimp! 
How dare you say you 'had to beg for me? 
To ibeg for me? I feel shamed unto death 
That he, the moment I lose him from sight 
Runs off to beg, — the habit grew on him 
Despite the spanking he from me received. 
To bring such shame upon my hoary head! 

1 am but poor but I need not to beg, 
With honest work I can support myself. 
And then to say that I force him to starve! 
I, who no greater happiness have known 

Than yielding him the choicest, wholesome food, 

Deny it to myself to give to him. 

All this howe'er is naught! What does he do? 

He dares 'his doting mother to deny! 

Did not your heart break into twain, you wretch, 

You miserable beast in human form, 

Your mother to deny! What you said now 

Came from your gall, your liver and your spleen, 

Not from your heart! The earth has never known 

A granny more loving than I have been. 

The day of judgment can't be far away 

When children dare their mothers to deny." 

The ancient windmill ground this with one breath, 

Until, at last, t-he man broke in her speech: 

"Enough! I've heard enough! You foul old witch. 

This comedy must stop, or with this cane 

I'll have to put the fear of God in you! 

Why, even now you are full beastly drunk. 

When so'ber, bring his birth certificate 

To me, — I live in yonder spacious house, — 

And you can have the boy, but only if 

You can produce the birth-certificate, 

Not otherwise! and now, boy, follow me!" 

The boy followed the man. From time to time 



32 ALEXANDER PET0F1 

He furtively looked back, as if in fear 

That she, the gruesome hag, would grab at him 

And wring his neck or drag him to her home. 

However she stood still and all she did 

Was t'hat she raised her fist and cursed aloud 

And rolled fiery eyes which sparkled like 

The irons of the smith to white-heat raised. 



IX. 

The boy's fate turned. He now saw better days, 

No more was he compelled to steal or beg. 

What happiness! What bliss! Once in a while 

Howe'er he feared the old hag might yet bring 

His birth certificate and drag 'him off, 

And if she did, what could then be his fate. 

And here and there the dove of sorrow and regret 

Would hover over him, came to his mind 

The friend and chum he left behind: the dog, 

And for the dog he'd almost willing be 

To his old home to go again to beg 

That he again might be with his one friend. 

He often dreamed of him and in his dreams 

He held the dog in his loving embrace, 

Who gently gladly lapped his hand and face. 

When waking from his sleep the poor boy wept 

Because but in a dream he saw his friend. 

When with the gentleman he had come home 
He was consigned by him to servants' care 
Who cleaned him of the dirt of all- the years 
And dressed him into new and decent clothes. 

How well he felt. As had he never lived 

And had been born but now, a happy boy. 

The old man then commanded him: "Come here, 

And list to what I have to say to you." 

"This boy here is my son, your master he, 
And you must always call him "gracious Sir"! 



THE APOSTLE 33 

He is your master, you his servant are, 

He will command, you must obey his will. 

You 'have naught else to do but to obey, 

Be prompt and be exact; remember well, 

One look of his and you must do his bid. 

All will be well if you submissive are, 

You'll feed well and you will wear decent clothes, 

But should you not obey: mark what I say, 

The rags in which I found you you get back, 

You'll be expelled from here and you can go 

To be the beggar boy you were before." 

The orphan boy became a faithful slave. 

He stood and walked beside his youthful lord 

As if his living shadow he had been. 

He watched his every move and his commands 

Had hardly been expressed when they were filled,. 

The boy howe-er was made to suffer much. 

The youthful master, like all of his ilk, 

Was a contemptuous little autocrat 

Who never ceased to make him feel that he 

The lord and master is and he the slave. 

For instance, if the hot soup burned his lips 

He'd turn upon the boy and slap his face. 

If someone did not doff the hat to him 

He'd Iknock the boy's hat off with brutal glee. 

When combing he awkwardly used the comb 

He'd fall upon the boy and pull his hair. 

There was no mean, no vile, dastardly trick 

The young lord would not play upon his slave. 

Maliciously he would step on his toes, 

Then kick at him and say: "You're in my way." 

Besmear with mud the boy, then deal him blows 

Because he dared to come to him unclean, 

Throw water in his face and when he wept 

He called him by the foul name "bastard-iboy". 

The poor boy suffered much. From day to day 

His sufferings increased. He bore it all. 

He bore it all with patience like a man 

Within whom lives a high and noble soul. 



34 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Why did he bear it? Why did he not leave 

As it had been so often in his mind? 

Ahi if yon only knew why he remained! 

The sweetness of the bread, the decent clothes 

Were not what kept him back when more than once 

He was about to run away. 

He was not like the chicken or the goose 

Which wanders off but will come home to roost, 

Unlike the lark, unlike the nightingale 

Which freed from cage where dainty food is theirs, 

Forever leave the same and are content 

To seek subsistence in sweet freedom's air. 



Thus felt the boy and yet he had remained, 
The bird in cage, for freedom pined and yet 
Like chicken and the goose he stayed *at home, 
Whene'er he started he came always back. 
What brought him back? His thirst to learn, to know. 
Standing behind his youtful lord, he learned, 
He peeped into his books, heard every word 
The tutor said. The real pupil was he. 
He learned with ease and he could read and write 
Much sooner than his highborn, youthful lord. 
And as the years passed by, his knowledge grew 
As yearly grow the antlers of the deer, 
And he began to feel proud of himself. 
Did, as was oft the case, his gracious chief 
Talk nonsence. he, all to himself, unheard, 
Corrected him and pitifully smiled 
At such dule ignorance he saw displayed. 



The tutor noted all. He could not help 

Impressed to be with the superior mind 

And intellect of our poor servant boy. 

He'd call on him the lessons to recite 

In which the master failed, although the boy 

Had learned them but by hearing them read off. 

The tutor tried his pupil thus to shame. 



THE APOSTLE 35 

The servant boy carried the honors off, 

The vicious master though revenged 'himself, 

For humbling him, his vanity and pride. 

From day to day he would subject the boy 

To more and more indignities most base, 

From day to day our poor boy suffered more, 

He felt how undeserved the master's blows, 

Which no longer caused his bones to ache 

But pained his soul, his manhood felt disgraced. 

He 'had now reached his sixteenth year of age. 

Each day which he had lived within that house 

Had brought a ray of light into his mind, 

And every ray a message brought to him, 

A message which to 'him conveyed these thoughts: 

"Why am I treated here with cruel blows? 

By what right does one hit another man? 

Did not our God create all men alike? 

'Tis said our God is just; if He is just 

He must love all humanity alike. 

I'll bear no longer this, whatever shall come. 

True, I am fed and dressed, I have a home, 

My services, no less, I give as pay, 

It is not charity that I receive. 

They have the right to ask my services, 

But not at all with cruel blows to strike. 

If they strike me once more, I swear by God 

That it shall be the last time that they do. 



It came to pass. The chance came soon enough^ 
When' his young master raised his hand to strike. 
But lo! the servant rose. "Stop, Sir!" he cried, 
"Don't dare to touch me any more. Beware! 
If you again strike me, I'll pay in kind, 
Give blow for blow, unto your dying day 
You'll not forget the thrashing I'll give you. 
I've ben a dog now long enough; henceforth 
I am a man! the slave, too, is a man. 
Yes, it is true, one hand here had been kind 
Another hand, though, nullified it all 



36 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

With heartless blows. We are all even now 
We do not owe each other anything." 

The youthful master with amazement filled 

Stood overawed, but soon in curses foul 

And yells gave went to his high wrought-up ire. 

"Mean low-life serf! ungrateful rebel knave!" 

Our boy howe'er broke in. His voice betrayed 

Contempt supreme: You call me low-life serf, 

Who knows .if not of nobler race has been 

My father than is yours or all his kin; 

That he disowned me was his fault, not mine; 

And if all gentlemen have hearts and souls 

Like yours, thank God then that he cast me off, 

Because of my own making now a man 

Of worth and faith and deed I'll try to be. 

You say a rebel I! Sir! You are wrong. 

Is it rebellious to feel, to say 

That I too am a man like other men! 

Ah! if I could express what now I feel, 

What stirs my heart, in language adequate: 

My speech would cause the millions to rise, 

The world would shake as trembled ancient Rome 

W T hen Spartacus stood 'fore the mighty w T alls, 

His gladiators with their broken chains 

Belaboring and causing them to fall. 

Yes, gracious Sir, we two now part fore'er. 

I spoke to you as speaks a man to man. 

When once the slave his manhood did assert 

Of hunger he might die. die on the stake, 

But nevermore he'll be a slave! Good-bye!" 

He turned upon his heels and left the house. 

He left fore'er the. home in which his life 

Had floated over all the years, as floats, 

A flower o'er the surface of a pond. 

He. went into the world, he knew not where, 
He had no aim. The flame of youth leaped up 
And burned within his soul, as burns a town 
Of fire which is fanned by giant force. 



THE APOSTLE 

W^nVT? 1 m r asters tutor, who set out 
When he had left resolved to bid farewell 
To our poor boy. Oh! how the dear old man 
Had run! Exhausted he could hardly breathe 
Without cessation he his forehead mopped 
The while he to the youth in broken speech 
— JJisjointed did it seem— these word adressed- 
Here my dear boy, this money you must take, 

it is my wage for one whole year; for you 

If you are frugal— 'tis enough for years. 

In time to come a great man you will be 

I tell you this, I never yet have seen 

A boy of mightier mind and intellect 

Than you. Your sentiments are also mine, 

I feel like you ; alas! I did not dare 

To speak as boldly, freely, as you did. 

How I admired you! God bless you, boy!! 

But listen boy, I give you no advice, ' 

'Tis a command I give! Go on! and learn! 

Your studies you must finish at the schools 

Or I shall curse and God shall punish you. 

You were not born to live but for yourself, 

,Your lot will be to live for all the world, 

And therefore, I command: Go! study hard, 

But no! This needeth no command from me. 

Your thirst for knowledge is well known to me. 

And now, God bless you my dear boy! Farewell! 

With all my heart I wish you happiness. 

Once in a while, dear boy, remember me! 

If my command howe'er you do not heed 

Then let me forever forgotten be." 



The boy bent down to kiss the good man's hand, 
The other, though, would not permit him that, 
But drew him to his breast and kissed his face 
With tearfilled eyes he said: "Farewell!'' and left. 



37 



38 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The poor boy felt his heart beat strong with bliss, 

This was the first time in his dreary life 

That he received a token of man's love. 

For sixteen years he suffered agonies 

E'er he had met a man who had a heart 

To give him in a brotherly embrace. 

When he had left behind the narrow streets 

And reached the open fields he felt relieved. 

He felt as if he were from prison freed 

And eagerly he breathed God's free air. 

His precious gift which to the feet brings strength 

And makes the human soul to rise on wings. 

Once he looked back, he was far, far away. 

The houses seemed to be one mighty mass, 

The dark church-towers swallowed by the mist, 

The noise of thousands was a heee-hive's hum. 

''You t must not stop", the boy said to himself, 

You must not see the place or hear of it 

Where until now you lived, if it be life 

Which has been yours. And he resumed his pace 

As one who tries from stinging whips to fly. 



At last the city was in distance lost. 

He stood there in the boundless space and felt 

The first time that he had his freedom won. 

"At last I'm free! he cried. "Thank God! F'm free!" 

That's all he then could say, his flowing tears 

However were more eloquent than speech 

Expressed by human tongue could ever be. 

What sentiments sublime, inspiring thoughts 

Dwell in men's souls who are the first time free!— 

The boy went on to where fair scenery 

Invited him. He revelled in the sight 

Of things most beautiful, of hill and vale, 

Of flowery field through which the brooklet ran', 

Of forest green in which the song bird sang, 

And all that he beheld was new to him. 

The first time in his life he saw revealed 

Before him natures glorious radiance. 



THE APOSTLE 39 

There is the mighty mountain wilderness 

Where thunder, lightning, where the raving storm 

The roaring fall of waters indicate 

The uproar of the judgment-day: below 

Down in the plain where silent flows the brook, 

Where insects' humming is the greatest noise: 

There he stood still, piously looked around, 

And when his eyes had feasted on the scene, 

A holy sentiment took hold of him 

He fell upon his knees and prayed aloud: 

"I pray to Thee my God, I know Thee now, 

I uttered oft, heard oft Thy Holy Xame 

But until now I knew not what it meant. 

Fair nature, taught me who Thou art, taught me 

To know Thy might, Thy boundless goodness too! 

Praise be to Thee my God, I pray to Thee 

Because, at last, I know now who Thou art!" 

And wherever he went, found everywhere 

All nature to be sweet and fair always. 

The men in it alone unhappy were, 

Foul misery and vileness ruled supreme. 

His own, he found, was not the greatest ill. 

That others more wretched were than himself 

Gave him great pain. He found that there lived men 

Deserving more of pity than himself. 

This caused him his own woe to disregard, 

The others' woe he felt though all the more. 

He put his forehead on an icy stone 

And found in burning, bitter tears relief. 



XL 

He bore in mind what had been told him 
By the good tutor when he bade farewell, 
And generously gave money to him. 
He always bore in mind the sound advice 
He went to school and earnestly learned. 
Within the circle of his school colleagues 
He was the moon, his fellows were the stars: 



40 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

He was admired; no love was shown him, though. 

His soul's- sublimity weighed as a stone 

Upon the rest, and envy, jealousy 

Ne'er ceased their poisoned darts to shoot at him. 

"Why treat me thus?" he asked good naturedly 

His classmates at the school. "I do not learn 

For my own benefit. I learn for you! 

Believe, my friends, the knowledge I acquire 

Will of good service be, not for myself 

But for the public weal. Ah! Could you look 

Into this heart of mine, all of you here 

Would be attached to me ifTfriendship sweet, 

You'd love me then as now I am disliked. 

You'd love me then as I love all of you. 

Could into the depths of my soul you glance, 

You'd clearly see the error of your ways. 

You would not clip the branches of the tree 

The shade and fruit of which you'll once enjoy. 

Ye poor, misguided and shortsighted boys, 

A time will come, O God! a time will come 

When all of you will love and honor me." 

The boys such speeches would wit'h laughter greet, 
As ammunition use for new assaults, 
Their guns of mockery aimed at his heart. 

And he became estranged from all the world, 
Morose, austere, a morbid lonely man. 
One only friend he had: his solitude. 

He lived among the pictures which the world 

Regards as phantasies, to him they were 

Realities, the future's living forms 

Which looked into his high aspiring soul. 

There, in his solitude, with zeal he read, 

— As is the Koran read by Mussulman 

Or pious Jew his good old Bible reads, — 

The volume which he over all preferred: 

The story of the world. What wondrous book! 

To one man 'tis the source of bliss supreme, 



THE APOSTLE 41 

While to another one it brings despair. 
To one 'tis life and to an another death. 
It puts a sword into one's hand and says 
"Go forth into the strife, 'tis not in vain, 
You'll bring relief to all humanity!" 
While to another one it seems to say: 
"Discard the sword, thy efforts fruitless are, 
The world fore'er will be unfortunate 
As it has been these many thousand years." 
What did he read? What message came to him 
When he had read and read again the book? 
What were his thoughts when with his trembling 

hands 
He closed the book which stirred his very soul? 
These were his thoughts: The grape's a tiny fruit, 
Which takes a summer ere to ripeness grows. 
The earth, too, is a fruit, a mighty fruit, — 
And if the grape to ripen needs a year, 
How many seasons needs this mighty fruit 
Before 'tis ripe! Many a thousand years, 
The grapes are ripened by the rays of sun, 
And countless milliards of ray^ must breathe 
Their warmth upon the fruit before 'tis sweet. 
Rays ripen too the earth, no sun-rays though, 
The rays which do this are the souls of men, 
Of men with great souls, but these souls are rare. 
How then can we expect earths's early growth 
Into maturity? I feel- such ray to be. 
One of the rays which aids earth's ripening, 
The life of such a ray is but a day. 
I know that when the day, the longed-for day 
Of vintage comes at last I'll be no more, 
And not a trace of my work shall be left: 
My life howe'er gains strength, my death gains 

peace 

To feel, to know that I have been a ray. 
Arise, my soul; Arise and do thy work. 
No time, yea not a moment must be lost 



42 . ALEXANDER PETCFI 

The task is great, time flies and life is short. 

What is the goal, the world desires to reach? 

'Tis happiness and freedom is the means 

By which it is attained. I'll fight for it 

As countless thousands have for freedom fought. 

As countless thousands fell I too may fall, 

And gladly shall I yield my heart's last blood! 

Receive me freedom's martyrs in your ranks, 

I swear allegiance to you for aye! 

Be there one drop of blood within my breast 

Which does not beat in truth for freedom's cause; 

Let it be spilled if e'en the last it is, 

And with its flow my life shall ebb away!" 

This was his vow. — Men did not hear it, — true, 
But God Almighty did and He inscribed 
Into His sacred list of martyr's names 
Sylvester's name, the name of our poor boy. 



XII. 

The boy had grown to be a youth, the youth 
To manhood grew. Year after year rolled on, 
They came and went without a "farewell'' e'en. 
Nor did the years spare him; each year that came 
Left traces on his face and on his heart. 

Long, long ago he had finished his schools, 
The great world he had entered. There he was, 
Amidst life and amongst men, in the crowd 
Where at each step of his he gets a knock, 
And each knock wipes the pollen off of life 
And wipes the healthy color from man's face. 

The world howe'er, to him seemed not to be 
The kind he thought the great, wide world would be. 
It shrunk each day. Men whom the Lord had made 
In his own image were depraved and vile. 
Man who should boldly look into the height, 



THE APOSTLE 43 

Looks to the dust of earth as if to learn 
From insects how the crawl and how to creep. 
But still, the smaller seemed to him the man: 
The greater was the work himself assumed 
To be his mission and which to fulfill 
In time, undaunted did his task, though small, — 
As small as is the labor of the ant, — 
But just as active as that insect he. 
The narrow circle which was his he filled 
Completely with the brightness of his soul. 
His virtues and the keenness of his mind, 
While yet at school had made a name for him 
And when his course of studies finished were 
From many great ones flattering offers came. 
They said to him: "Come and my servant be, 
To serve a man like me is itself 
A glorious thing. You bend your knee to me, 
'Tis true, but thousands have to bow to you. 
You"ll have naught else to do than to oppress 
These thousands and from them to get the most. 
'Tis easy work and you'll grow rich and great." 

Sylvester gratefully declined the call. 

He said: "That I might have serfs of mine own 

I wouldn't the servant of another be. 

I want no fellow man to bow to me 

I know no man who greater is than I. 

And I refuse my knees to bend to you. 

I know no man who smaller is than I, 

And as to wealth — I do not care for it, 

I surely do not want it as the price 

Of my oppressing my dear fellowmen." 

Thus did he speak, and though he bared his head, 

He stood erect and proudly faced the man. 

The high position tendered, he declined... 
There came to him a few pour country folk 
Inviting him to come to live with them 
And to become their Village-Notary. 
Contented, and most happy to accept, 



44 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

He went into that village and when there 

The poor inhabitants surrounded him 

While he, with flaming eyes, adressed them thus: 

"Hail, hail to thee, majestic people! List, 

Look full into my eye! I'll be to you 

A teacher and a loving father, too. 

E'er since your birth yon were taught to obey. 

That duty's chains are strong was all you knew, 

I will instruct you in your legal rights." 

And he fulfilled the promise he had made. 

Thenceforth, the peasant folk, their labor done, 

Did not, as since time immemorial, 

Go to the village-inn, but went to him. 

The town-hall square became their meeting place. 

They listened to their youthful Notary ; 

The hoary man were taught by the mere youth, 

The}' listened more attentively to him 

Than to their priest, they understood him best, 

And what they learned the old folks taught their 

boys. 
The village people held him in esteem. 

Two houses, though, were in that village, where 
Instead of blessings called upon his head. 
The young apostle was constantly cursed. 
One of these houses that in which the squire, 
The other that in which the priest resides: 
They are the Castle and the Parish house. 
From day to day our young apostle grew 
More hated and more feared by squire and priest. 
The two conspired his fall to bring about. 
They saw, that they themselves are doomed, were he 
Allowed to mould the people's intellect. 

Up in the castle, though, there was a soul 
Who felt for him the same esteem as did 
The populace; to whom to hear him praised 
Was joy and who felt pained was he abused. 
Who was this soul who recognized his worth, 



THE APOSTLE 45 

And rightly judged him and his splendid work? 

Who was this somebody? Who could it be, 

But she, the beauteous daugther of the squire? 

Who else could it have been? A woman's heart 

Is a most glorious harbor. It is closed 

Against all selfish thoughts, altough by stealth 

Or force it might have even entered there, 

That heart thougih 's ope for all that is sublime 

And sweet. Be persecuted innocence 

Exiled form everywhere, within her heart 

It always finds a port of welcome rest. 

A woman's heart's indeed a glorious home. 

The youth did not suspect at all that he 

By some one's looked upon with kindly eyes, 

Has in the castle one fair patroness. 

From time to time he saw the maiden fair 

When through the village she her way would take, 

Or when she from her windows looked upon 

The place beneath, and when he saw the maid 

A sense of loneliness would fill his heart. 

And musingly he would speak to himself: 

"A man is not a citizen alone, a 

"He also is a man. Must he devote 

"His life forever to the public weal 

"And never know life's bliss in his own life? 

Poor boy! Willt thou e'er live thy own sweet life? 

"Thou spread'st thy soul amongst thy fellow men, 

"Will ever there be one who'll give her soul 

"To thee, or give thereof a share, or deign 

"To look upon thee with a friendly smile . 

"So that thou may'st surmise at least that life 

"Can really happy be? For love athirst 

"A summer day's rain cannot quench, alas, 

"Not ^'en a drop of dew gives me relief. 

"Do not rebel against thy fate, poor boy, 

"And bravely bear thy yoke, if thou but giv'st 

"To those around thee bliss: thou hast done well. 

"Be like the earth which grows the golden grain 

"By others reaped. Be like the burning wick 

"Which by the waning of its life spreads light." 



46 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

111 or good fortune brought it once about 
That she once met the youth and spoke to him. 
They met but for a moment and exchanged 
A word or two; that's all, and yet thenceforth 
They often met; who knows? was it mere chance? 
Was it intent? The two themselves knew not. 
All unawares their meetings grew more long, 
More confidential too, altough the two 
Of their own selves would never speak a word. 
However once, — the youth e'en did not know 
Had she been asking it or did he speak 
Unasked, — impulsively, — he told the maid 
The story of his life; how lonely he, 
Forsaken and alone; he never had 
A brother or a friend, was never called 
"My son", "my boy", and how he had been found. 
Out in the street by one who was a thief, 
How then a beggar-wench adopted him, 
And how he then became a servant mean. 
His early years thus passed: he stole, he begged, 
Did menial work. He spoke then of the woe 
And agony that weighed upon his soul 
W,hile growing up: more awful even were 
These than the days of yore. The retrospect — 
It seemed he looked lhto a putrid pool- 
Made his own soul to overflow with pain. 
Hot burnings tears he shed, as sheds its blood 
An army beaten on the battlefield... 
And she, the maiden, also wept with him. 



XIII 

That very day he met the maiden's Sire. 
Quite different the interview with him._^ 
The proud lord of the manor sent £pr him, 
Gave him a tongue-lashing most merciless, 
Accused him of having his vassals led 
Astray, made rebels dangerous of them; 
That if he dared with such work to proceed 



THE APOSTLE 47 

He'd drive him from the village in disgrace. 

With dignity the young man thus replied: 

"Sir! I forbid you thus to lecture me, 

No schoolboy I, but even not at school 

Did I permit thus to be spoken to. 

If I have sinned, if to rebellion I 

Incited men, — there is the law! the law 

Can punish me. Did I commit no crime 

Who gives to you the right to chastise me! 

I do not heed your threat to drive me off, 

It does not frighten me; to earn my bread 

I can go anywhere. I shall not leave 

This place howe'er, because I feel at home, 

I know I am of use, I fill my place. 

You will not drive me off for your own good. 

If you did the people would follow me 

Or they would turn on you and from your home 

And hearth would exile you. This is not said 

To threaten you, but as a sound advice. 

I know the populace, I know they love 

And honor me and what they'd do for me!'' 

Thus spoke the youth, then bowed and went away. 

Upon the Sunday following, the priest 
Preached to his congregation in this wise: 
"This man is awful, and he should be feared, 
An atheist and agitator he. 
If you allow him to remain with you 
You're lost in this and in the world to come. 
Those who remain his friends forfeit their lives 
To our good king and on the gallows die, 
Nor can their souls e'er heaven's Kingdom reach, 
Eternally are damned their souls and lost." 
Besought and warned them to heed his words 
Ere it is late. With tearful eyes he prayed: 
"Oh save your lives, your heavenly bliss oh save! 
•Death and perdition should not be your choice 
But choose a happy life and heaven's rewards." 
Their ire aroused, the people left the church, — 



48 ALEXANDER PET6FI 

The House of God, the House of Peace 'tis called, — 
Like wild beasts wounded in the hunt, they ran 
To him whom yesterday "our father'' named, 
Made to him known: "tomorrow by this time 
You must be gone or stoned to death you'll be." 
The youth addressed them in his own bold way, 
And how he spoke! He spoke inspiringly, 
As ne'er before; alas, it was in vain, 
For where the priest once had a word to say 
Truth had no chance, there truth was crucified. 
The priest's each word calls forth a devil to rise, 
And though the devil' is not mightier than God, 
He surely is more eloquent, he can't 
Conquer with deeds but he can lead astray. 
With threatening curses they then left the youth. 

Just for a moment his spirit was wrenched 
Thougths of despair would flit within his brain 
As ravens flit around" a carcass found. 
"These are the people" — he cried in despair, 
These are the people whom I had adored, 
For whom I lived, for whom I would have died. 
But thus it was a thousand years ago. 
And what of it? A thousand years from now 
It will be otherwise. Mankind is young, 
With ease 'tis fooled. To ripe manhood when grown 
' It shall be otherwise. Because still young 
It must be nursed with care. 'Twas ever thus:_ 
Since ancient days the kings and priests would strive 
In mental blindness and in ignorance 
The populace to keep; these demigods 
Had but one aim: to rule! and well they knew, 
That only such,— the mental blind, — submit 
To kind 'and priest-craft reign." He pitied them. 
"Poor people", — mused he— "but what do I care? 
I fought for them till now, henceforth I'll fight 
With force and vigor new, they shall be free!" 

The eve has set, the night came in, to him 
The last night he would spend in his old home, 



THE APOSTLE 49 

He stands within the shadow of the trees, 

Looks up toward the window where at times 

To see her he was wont. The window 's bare 

No light, no maiden there, yet he looks up, 

Intently gazing, he looks like a ghost 

That into stone had turned. His deep felt woe 

Together with the moon spread o'er his face 

A veil of ghastly white. When all at once, 

He felt his hand by someone grasped. He turned, 

And he beheld her at his side for whom 

He had so hopelessly been waiting there. 

"For you I waited here." then. .said the youth. 

"For you I waited here. I dared to hope 

Once more to see you in that window there, 

A mute farewell I sent up from my eyes, 

And then to go, fore'er to go away. 

Beyond all hope my fate is kind to me , 4\ 

My lips can now convey my last farewell, , 

My hands rest in your hands. Sweet maid: 

Farewell! Good-bye you sweetest of the fair. ; 

In all the world you were the only one 

Who called me friend, whom I my friend could call. 

I have no keepsakes, but your picture fills 

My heart, as in some poor man's hut's bare wall 

The Saviour's picture hangs, before which he 

Each eve in adoration bends his knee. 

But if the costliest keepsakes filled my heart, 

I'd cast them all away and only keep 

The memory of this blissful parting hour. 

Farewell! If ever you shall hear of me, 

That I achieved great fame, believe me, girl, 

The merit will be yours, for your sake I 

Shall strive great, good and famous to become. 

So that you may never regret to have 

Befriended me; but rather feel some pride 

To have enclosed me in your golden heart. 

Farewell! You were my guardian angel here. 

He started then to go, but he was stopped. 
As if in chains the maiden holds his arm. 



50 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

She tried to speak but could not speak one word, 
Until amidst heart-rending- sobs she said: 
"Farewell, good-bye! And God be with you, dear. 
Farewell, you noblest of the youth. Farewell! 
If I could only go, Fd gladly go with you, 
Shall we two nevermore each other see? 
Go! Go! My star is fallen from on high. 
Farewell, my love! Your's is my heart's best love. 
I had to tell you this, it flowed from here. 
My heart, as flows the Vesuv's burning flame. 
'Tis you I love; And hear my solemn vow: 
If I cannot become your own true wife. 
By Heaven above I swear, 1**11 never wed! 
Here, take this ring, 'tis our engagement ring, 
And sooner will its pure gem turn to dust 
Ere faithless I become. Farewell my friend! 
Fair dream of my poor youthful life, Farewell!" 

The richest bliss and gift of heaven are his. 
He fell upon his knees and kissed her feet. 
When on the morn he had left the place, 
And on the highway trod, a hundred times 
He looked upon the ring, for then he knew 
That last night's sceVe was not his fever's dream, 
AVas not the fancy of an insane mind. 

He took the road, — himself he knew not why, — 

Towards the capital, the city where 

At one time he .had stolen, begged and worked. 

He found a .garret room which suited him, 

And there he lived. He knew not what to do, 

Wjhile pondering o'er what to undertake, 

A knock is heard upon his door, it opes, 

A lady veiled comes in. — the veil is raised. 

The youth stands petrified, his mind stands still, 

He recognizes her, she is his friend. 

"I've followed you!" the girl then said to him, 
"I've followed you!! though if a burden I, 
Just drive me hence. I shall then take my seat 



THE APOSTLE 54 

Upon the threshold of the "door and wait 
Untill my heart shall break. Eve followed you. 
Because without you I don't want to live. 
I am now here, what will you do with me?" 
The youth fell on her breast, and then they wept 
The while their hearts o'erflowed with blissful joy. 
"You do not drive me hence?" the maid then said. 
I can remain with you? I can stay here? 
Half of your woes and sorrows are now mine 
And all my happiness henceforth is yours. 
Each care of yours is mine, if ever I 
Complain, then lose all faith in me and know 
That false were all the vows of love I made. 



XIV. 

And then, as if in lawful wedlock, lived 

The two. No priest had blessed their plighted love, 

They made no vows of fealty and faith, 

They did not utter speech, deep in their hearts 

These words of promise "unto death'' remained 

Untainted, as they should fore'er remain, 

Pure as the stars, whose brightness human breath 

Can never reach. The days passed blissfully, 

The months... the world without knew naught, 

of them, 
They seemed to know naught of their world around. 

The youth's spirit howe'er became aroused 

And said to him with voice of stern reproach. 

"Awake, arise! Thou wert not born to live 

A selfish life, for others thou wert made, 

Up! Up! Young man! and do your work in life." 

In language more severe then spoke to him 

A voice, the voice of daily need and want: 

"Up! go to work, or soon in direst need 

And hungry will you be, now two of you, 

And soon to come a third one must be fed." 

He went to work. He wrote; with heart and soul 



52 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

He penned the dictates of his brilliant mind. 

Then to an editor he took his work. 

The editor read through the manuscript. 

And said to him: You are a great man, Sir, 

You are a genius, but still a fool. 

You're truly great, your work's indeed sublime, 

The like of which Rousseau did never write, 

You are, though, still a fool if you could think 

That you this manuscript would see in print. 

Have you ne'er heard of what the Censor is? 

If not, I'll tell you, list, the censor is 

The devil's own threshing machine, the sheaves 

Of human brain are threshed by it. The grain — 

I mean the truth — is seperated and 

The chaff and straw are given back to print, 

And this is all the public is allowed 

To digest. Ah! Sir, if you doubt my word, 

Just let us try. Yes, I am willing, Sir, 

To bolt one leaden ball for each grain 

Left in your sheaf when he is through with it. 

If you the product of your brain would save 

From this threshing machine, produce no grain, 

Produce but weed, however mean and vile 

Which poisons people's minds. What do you care? 

For stuff of that kind you are even paid." 

Stunned and bewildered he went slowly home, 
Felt as if he against a wall had knocked 
His head. Sat down to write, fully resolved 
To write in other vein, subdued and smooth 
And soft so that the censor, when his hands 
Pass o'er his work, should feel its velvet touch. 
When he had done his work, he found the same 
More free, outspoken, bolder than the first. 
Against his judgment and convktious strong, 
And ten and hundred times he tried to write, 
But all in vain, he tore up what he wrote.^ 
He found he could not force himself to write 
Against his judgement and convictious strong, 
That if he wrote what might go through the press 



THE APOSTLE 53 

It would be thrash, while what he felt to be 
Work of real worth, the censor would reject. 
"'Tis awful!" he exclaimed, ''are there no means 
To make myself then heard! This fire within 
My soul, winch would have set the world ablaze, 
I must quench and subdue within my breast, 
That it devour my own .heart. — I must live! 
Shall I my sacred principles deny, 
And let the rascals who deceive the world, 
Hire my pen? No! By the Eternal! No! 
Death from starvation On a dung-hill I 
Prefer, and I much rather end my life 
As I began the same. I'll steal* I'll beg, 
Do menial work ere I -should write one line 
That does not spring and rise from my soul's 

source, 

Ere I a false seal put upon one thought — 

However insignificant, of mine. 

Good-bye ye thoughts, ye walled in prisoners, 

Let my brain the prison and the coffin be 

For my ideas.... No! They cannot die; 

The day will be because the day must be 

When they come forth, their prison-door shall ope, 

And make their tour around the wide-wide world 

And carry light and warmth everywhere 

As do the rays of the bright summer sun." 



The youth allowed his thoughts and his ideas 

To rest. To gain the needful daily bread 

He copied others' thoughts. What weary work! 

More bitter far than chopping logs of wood. 

At early morning he began his work, 

Worked late into the eve, and many times 

He burned the midnight oil, and frequently 

His lamp went out before he went to bed. 

And yet, in spite of all this earnest work 

His table often missed its meagre weight 

Of daily food; upon his window pane 

The winter often planted icy flowers 



54 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

And froze the tear within the woman's eye 
Naught cooled howe'er the ardour of her love. 

Years came, years passed, his family had grown. 
Now they were three and then the fourth' one came, 
And quadrupled was then the misery. 
Within that narrow garret-room, their home, 
The walls of which inflowing rain had streaked, 
And mildew had put on its ornaments; 
Where now. upon the bed, three of them sleep, 
The mother and the children, while nearby, 
Upon a heap of straw the man found rest. 
The rising sun's first rays fall on his brow, 
Encircling his head, as if Almighty God 
Had pressed upon that brow a loving kiss. 



XV. 

The family woke up. The first to rise 

Is he who had been last to go to sleep. 

The mother rises next, and then the boy. 

The baby did not wake, still in deep sleep— 

Upon their tip-toes they all move around 

Their speech is whisper, so their voice break not 

The baby's sleep. Poor father, mother, son. 

Why move on tip-toes, why this voiceless speech? 

Tramp heavily, speak loud and shriek and yell, 

Be not afraid, you will not wake her up, 

Because the dead no longer hear the noise; 

The babe is dead, the babe has starved to death 

W'hat can the parents feel.what do they feel 
When Death,— their offspring's death,— stares in 

their face? 
But think of the parent who is made aware _ 
That want of food, that hunger killed his child, 
His innocent and beauteous angel babe? 
If God endowed me with his right hand's force 
Not e'en then might I tell the agony 



THE APOSTLE 55 

Which by a thousand claws' most cruel hurts 
Made that poor mother's heart profusely bleed? 

Leave her alone, leave her to throw herself 
Upon the lifeless corpse, to moan, to weep, 
From her deep sorrow's deep abyss to heaven 
To call, her God with cruelty to charge, 
Prostrate herself and deprecate His wrath, 
Leave her alone, do not attempt to stop 
The wildest outburst of her insane grief. 

The man stood speechless, mute his agony 

Before the tiny corpse, or was he glad 

That she had ceased to suffer hunger's pangs? 

The boy amazed was staring at the babe 

And thinks that he himself will be as white 

And motionless when he too shall be dead 

And he too not be hungry any more. 

The hours but slowly pass, still time does move 

Exhausted — or in faint? — the woman falls 

Upon the corpse, her grief is duller now 

Her soul's upheaved waves sweep no more the sky 

They have more calm become and gently sway 

As waves the grain o'er which the zephyr blows. 

She takes the dead child to her loving breast 

And gently rocks it while a lullaby 

Sihe chauds with voice subdued. Her sing-song sounds 

Like when in autumn eve the tree tops sigh: 

Sleepest darling 

Baby dear? 
Dreamland's visions 

Bright and clear 
Do they fill thy 

Blissful rest? 
Not yet is the 

Earth thy nest, 
Mother holds thee 

To her breast. 



56 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Sleep beloved one 

Baby dear. 
Thou hast been my 

Joy and cheer. 
Like the sun rays, 

Bright and clear 
Made us happy 

All in here. 

From the dawn's kiss 

Glows the sky, 
With my kisses . 

Do I try 
Thy pale face to 

Beautify. 
Once again but 

Smile, and I 
Will submit and 

Cease to cry. 

O'er a green grave 

A white cross, 
There I'll lament 

O'er my loss. 
Freely flows there, 

Not the rain, 
Tears thy mother 

Can't restrain. 

Weeping willows 

Cease to moan, 
None must mourn here, 

I alone. 
You may listen 

Crown of trees, 
To a mother's 
~ Tearful pleas: 

Dost thou, dearest 

Rest in peace? 



THE APOSTLE 57 

Head and heart are 

Now at ease? 
Is the earth light 

O'er thy tomb. 
Soft the couch in 

Earth's dark womb? 
Was it warmer 

When thy nest 
Was upon thy 

Mother's breast? 

Sleep well dearest 

My heart's dove, 
Good night darling; 

God above 
Keep thee safe, and 

Golden bright 
Let thy dreams be 

Through the night. 



And while she does her dead child put to sleep 
Herself, at last, falls into slumber deep. 
And while she rests the husband ponders o'er 
The problem where to get a coffin's price, 
The funeral's cost? for he was penniless 
What's there at home what he could sell or pledge? 
In vain he looks around, there's naught indeed 
Of any value left within his home. 

What came then to his mind that all at once 
He stirred, as if touched by a sudden shock, 
Grew deathly pale. He saw the dear, old ring, — 
Priceless to him, — the ring once given to him 
By her, — that time! — He now must sell the ring, 
That not all naked be his child confined 
To earth. He now must with his treasure part, 
It had been more to him than was the light 
Of his two eyes, he now must part from that 
Which he had kept through all these years of want. 



58 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The thought to part with it his hair turned gray, 
In all the world howe'er he had naught else 
With which to pay to bury his dead babe. 

When from his finger he the ring had drawn, 
He felt as if his heart had been torn out, 
The past and present had been cut in twain, 
Destroyed the bridge twixt winter and the spring 
And mashed the stairs on which he in his dreams 
From earth to heaven would now and then ascend. 
Alas! it must be done, the ring must go, 
His child must have a decent burial. 

t 
His child did have a decent burial. 
The coffin was of rosewood, satinlined, 
A marble stone was put over the grave. 
Ah, well! the ring had brought a goodly price, 
And all of it was spent on the deceased. 
The father could not think of it to spare 
One single cent e'en for a crust of bread 
Although indeed they all felt hunger's pangs. 
Bread with that money bought would kill, he thought, 
Would poisonous be; and he. he had to live, 
Live long and work his mission to fulfill. 



XVI, 

He knew, he felt: the thoughts inspiring him 
Shall not, will not within his brain die out. 
But that there must, there will yet come the day 
When ilrom their prison breaking they go forth 
And conquer all the world o'er which they spread. 

It came to pass. What strenuous work of years 

Had not accomplished, now by happy chance 

A moment brought about. He found somewhere, 

In some secluded, subterranean place 

A printing shop where he could print his works. 

What did he say therein? He told the world 



THE APOSTLE 59 

That priests a*re not like ordinary men, 
But devils have become, that kings are not 
By grace divine or some such nonsence vain, 
Great demigods, but are plain, common men, 
That all men equal are, all have the right, 
— Nay more, — as duty to their Lord God owe 
To be free, that who freedom does not prize 
— God's greatest gift, — betrays his very God. 

His book was published and all o'er the wofid 
With lightning swiftness was distributed 
And eagerly was read. Men, all athirst, 
Drank its invigorating cristal flow 
From which their very souls grew young again. 
The powers though, alarmed, grew deathly pale 
Upon their furrowed ftronts vindictive ire 's seen, 
With thunderings they shriek. "A traitor he 
"Who wrote this book, religion he blasphemes, 
"His majesty the king he dares assail, 
"The author must severely punished be." 
The frightened populace repeated it: 
Indeed, a traitor he who wrote this book, 
Religion he blasphemes, insults the king, 
"As is prescribed by law the author must 
Severely punished be. Inviolate 
"And sacred are our faith likewise our king." 

Most awful was the punishment he met. 

Arrested in the street, he's carried off, 

"Desist!" appealingly he cries, "desist 

"Fear naught, I'll not attempt to run away, 

"I follow you where'er you lead me to; 

"But just one moment wait. That window yon 

"You see, the window of rr^ home it is. 

"My wife and child live the»:e, pray take me there 

For one short minute only, so that I 

"May say good-bye to them and then you may 

"To prison take me, take me anywhere. 

"Let me embrace them once again and then 

"I'm yours, for I'd far rather go to hell 



60 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

"After I've said my last good-bye to them 
"Then go to heaven without a parting kiss. 
Are you yourselves without family ties? 
"Are you no husbands? Have no children you? 
"What would you say if you were treated thus? 
"In all the wdrld I have naught else but them, 
"In all the world they have naught else but me. 
"Let me, good men, oh, let me go to them 
"That once again, — who knows? — the last time, I 
"M'ay hold them next my heart. Don't pity me, 
"Bait pity them, they're surely innocent. 
"They 're not to blame, no malefactors they. 
"Why punish them? Oh! do not kill them too. 
"Oil, God! If with my earnest plea your hearts 
"I can not move, my flowing tears appeal 
"To you for this one boon, my tears which are 
"But drops of blood which well from my poor 
"And are the sweat-drops of a dying soul." 

And weepingly he fell upon his knees. 
And as in better days he had embraced 
His sweethart's knees, his captors knees now held 
Within his arms and wept. His captors though 
With brutish, mocking laugther kicked at him, 
Bade him to rise, nay, picked him up with force 
And carried him towards the cart which stood 
Near by in which to carry him to jail. 
When he then saw that all his prayer's in vain, 
His furious ire aroused, he rose and fought 
With all desperate force at his command 
To shake his captors off. with madman's strength 
He struggled to free himself and shrieked and roared. 
But all in vain, he was subdued and bound 
And thrown into the van. — "Cursed be you all," 
He yelled, — "Curse you, and yours, ye fiends and 

brutes 
"In human shape. You aire the devil's own 
"'Tis not a human heart a loathsome toad 
"You have. As great as is upon your souls 
"The weight of rascality, as great 



THE APOSTLE 61 

"Shall be the fearful scars upon your cheeks, 
"And then the worms of the dunghill shall 
"Upon your carcass feast! Cursed be your king, 
"In whose name you drag manly v^-tue down, 
"And carry to the slaughter house. Curse you, 
"You good-for-nothing idiotic king 
"Wko think yourself a God to be. In truth 
"You are the devil, aye, the prince of lies. 
"Who did entrust the millions to you? 
"Who did entrust the sheepfold to the wolf? 
"Your hands are bloodred like your regal cloak, 
"Your face is pale as is the crown you wear, 
"Your heart is black as is the mourning which 
"Follows your deeds, as lengthened shade is drawn 
"By setting, sun. How long yet will you dare 
"Usurp your selifassumed illegal rights? 
"The powe'rs and prerogatives you stole? 
"Oh! that it come, that in their might supreme 
"Your subjects rise in violent revolt 
"Against you, as the storm-swept ocean waves 
"Arise, and when with hundred thousand men 
"To give them battle you go forth: God grant 
"It, that you do not bravely die -upon 
"The battle field as would be fit a man, 
"A craving coward you, you start the flight 
"Run for your life, try to escape and hide 
"Beneath you/- throne as hides beneath a couch 
"The dog that had been by his master whipped 
"From thence you should be dragged and as you 

stand 
"Before the crowd of women and of boys: 
"With mocking laughter they should spit at you. 
"Who theretofore t had kissed your hand and feet 
Should then command you their own toes to kiss 
"And as you kneel down their behest to do 
"Let them then kick at your distorted face, 
"Break one by one youlr teeth and trample out 
"Your wretched life. Die like a beastl, Despair! 
"As do despair I here! Oh wife! Oh child!" 



62 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

XVII. 

Had he been sleeping and woke up just now? 
Or had he insane been and had he just 
Regained his senses? Had he all these months 
Been crazed and wild?... Sylvester knew it not. 
He tried to think it out and thought and thought 
What could have happened to him and where was he? 
He looked around, but could not see a thing, 
A darkness most intense encircleth him. 

Then to himself he said: "It must be night. 

I was asleep and must have had a dream, 

I only half remember what I dreamt. 

It was an awful dream, 1 will not tell 

My wife about it, why disquiet her? 

Ah! if the mcvrn would dawn! What awful night 

I had; the darkest in my life. Doest sleep 

Good wife? Doest sleep my love? She heard me not, 

She surely sleeps. Sleep well beloved one... 

And still dawn does not break. When will it come? 

This heavy, stifling air is choking me. 

.Rise golden dawn and show thy radiant face, 

Or send at least ahead one tiny ray!... 

Oh! how my forehead burns, as if my head 

A volcan were and I fear it must burst." 

To wipe his sweating brow he raised his hand. 

The rattling clanking sound the fetters made, 

Brought to his mind the truth. He well 

remembered all. 
And like the wind sweeps through some ruined 

church 
A cold chill passes through his shattered frame. 

He well remembered all: how he was seized 
While in the street and carried off by force, 
Was not allowed to say a last good-bye 
To wife and child, was not allowed to look 
Into their eyes so sweet, his only bliss, 
To him his only wealth and happiness. 



THE APOSTLE 63 

And now he 's here within the prison walls, 
A subterranean hole,— who knows how deep,— 
More deep then are the graves whefrein decay 
The buried dead within a churchyard's space. 
When will he see again the shining sun? 
When will he see again his wife and child? 
It might be ne'er again. Why is he here. 
Within this ominous and cursed place? 
Because of what his God hath given him. 
He gave to men. by telling them the truth: 
There is one common good wherein all men 
Must share alike and that this common good 
Is freedom! — He. his fellow men deprives 
Of e'en a particle of freedom's boon 
Commits a deadly sin. such man to kill 
Is right, — nay more. — a duty even is 

""Saint freedom 'tis for thee I suffer here." 
Said dolefully the wretched prisoner. 
"Stood I alone in life as I for years 
Have stood, without a tie of loyal love 
'To wife and child. I'd sit upon this bench 
Of stone all calm and I would be as proud 
As the usurping king is on his throne. 
I'd wear these prison chains with as much pride 
As in the by gone days I wore the ring 
My darling bride-to-be had given me. 
But I have family, a wife and child. 
What will become of them now I am gone. 
Who will provide for them the daily bread 
And loving care they need? Oh, heairt of mine 
If into stone you can not turn, why not 
Be rent in twain and break and end it all?" 
He furiously raved and raged and wept. 
But the dense darkness that surrounded him 
Remained unmoved, and slowly, by degrees, 
He calmer grew, his worn out soul succumbed 
And he became as placid^ and composed 
As was the lifeless stone on which he sat, 
And gloomy as the darkness all around. 



64 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

To all sensation dead, in deepest thought 

He pondered o'er his plight. His mind 

But flitted low as flits a winged bird. 

"Tell me, my pjrison, who to the coffin 

Art twin, who built thee? Who will pull thee down? 

When wert thou built? How long yet wilt thou 

stand? 
Who sat upon this stone before my time? 
A martyr like myself was here confined, 
A highway robber or a murderer? 
Did moulder here his bones, or did he see 
Again our God-Almighty's beauteous world; 
A:h me! the world is beautiful indeed, 
The forests and the fields, the hills and vales, 
The flowefrs and the stars, indeed are fair. 
Who knows, will it be given me to see 
Them once again, or see them after years. 
W T hen e'en their names s'hall from my mind have 

passed? 
It may be that I shall be here a year, — 
Each moment seemeth an eternity. 
And time drags slowly as the mendicant 
Who on his crutches slowly moves about. 
One year! Suppose they keep me here ten years? 
Or twenty years, or even longer still? 
Come up to me all ye departed souls 
Who once did suffer heire. Let's talk a while, 
Instruct me how to pass the time down here. 
Who knows? I may be dead and only dream 
—What awful dream! — within my grave! Who knows 
It might well be that I am still alive, 
Was buried here alive. Oh no! I'm dead, 
The heart-beats I still here are nothing else 
Than the convulsions of my dying, soul." 

At last he stopped even to ruminate. 

His heart and mind insensible had grown. 

And there he sat, more motionless than is 

A statue hewn of stone. He only glared 

Into the night with which his prison was filled. 




THE APOSTLE 65 

His limbs grew numb he seemed his mind to lose. 

His head grew weighty and lengthwise he fell 

Upon the stony floor. Was he asleep? 

Or had he fainted? For a time he lay 

There motionless, he seemed not e'en to breathe 

When all at once, as if by bullet struck 

Or red-hot iron touched, with sudden jump 

He leaped up and with such heartrending voice 

That e'en the cold walls of his prison moaned 

It back, he cried out: "Stop! Oh! do not go!" 

And longingly he raised his outstretched arms. 

Long stood he thus, then slowly dropped his arms 
And sank into his seat, the teair-drops rolled 
From both his eyes and in a voice as though 
His soul were moaning, dolefully he groaned: 
"She would not stop, she's gone, all's at an end." 

What ailed him? What was it? Who would not stop? 
What was it that had ended? Did he dream? : . --i 

He did not dream. That was not a mere dream, 

Something that could not possibly be true, 

For it was true.. . As he was lying there 

A female form appeared before him, whom 

He recognized as his beloved wife. 

She bent to him and whispered in his ear: 

"My sufferings a>re o'er! God bless you dear!" 

And pressed a loving kiss upon his brow. 

'T was then he leaped up. When ope were his 

eyes, 
He still could see his wife, just for a trice, 
And then she disappeared. His prison which 
Had been surcharged with light, grew dark again, 
Dark as the night after a lightning's flash. 

"My sufferings are o'er, God bless you dear", 
Repeated he, the message he had heaird. 
"That's what she said to me in dulcet tones 
I'll no more hear. My sufferings are o'er, 



66 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

God bless you dear''. Well then, God bless you dear! 

Ihe foliage of my soul you have been, 

Of which it had been stripped by stormy wind. 

Why did it not uproot, destroy me too? 

What earthly use am 1, a crownless tree? 

W;here did the tempest's wings deposit you 

To find you if indeed it be my share 

To find you once again and withered though 

You be, 1 might exhale my life's last breath 

While neair your blest remains. I care no more 

For ought in life, no aim in life have I, 

You made life worth the pain, through you, for you 

I lived, you were the goddess I adored, 

You, all alone, were sweet reality. 

Ihe rest in life?Freedom, — humanity — 

All were but hollow phrases, phantom dreams, 

For which the fools would never cease to fight, 

You, all alone, were sweet reality, 

You were the goddess of my love and life, 

FoT-evermore 1 have lost even you. 

Did like a mole I burrow through the earth 

I'll nevermore find you, you turned to dust, 

Commingling with the earth like other dust 

Not e'en discernible whether a plant's 

Or animal's your ashes are. I'd bear 

This most gigantic burden till my death 

If but a last good-bye I could have said, 

Only one small word could have said to her. 

It could not be! It is all finished now, 

God would not grant me my last fervid prayer." 

"How cruel is God. Men bend their knees to Him, 

Call Him their Heavenly Father, while in truth 

A Tyrant He! I curse Thee God! Up there 

Thou sittest on Thy throne in majesty, 

Unfeeling, as are tyrants of this earth. 

Thou reignest proudly and each day which dawns 

Thou paintest new with rays of rising sun 

And with the blood of broken human hearts 

The faded purple of Thy royal sheen. 

Be cursed tyrannical oppressor Thou! 



THE APOSTLE 57 

As Thou denied me I deny Thee now! 

I am no more thy slave, take back the life 

Which, — as it were charity's kind alms, — 

Thou gavest me. Give it to some one else. 

Let some one else endure it if he can. 

I hurl it back at thee. Oh, that my throw 

Might break it like a piece of useless clay." 

The prisoner shrieked so loud this awful curse 

It seemed to frighten e'en the darkness which 

Surrounded him. Insanely furious 

He knocked his head against the wall. The wall 

Resounded with a thud as if it had 

Been wounded far more than the bleeding head. 

There lies the prisoner upon the stone. 

He is not dead. He lives. His bitter life 

Is so welded to him as is inbred 

The most appalling pain to his poor soul, 

And endless darkness to his prison cell. 



XVIII. 

Ten years he had been now within the four 
Vvaiis of his prison cell. Out in the world e'en 
Ten years are a long stretch of time. Far more 
Far more, within that dreadful gruesome place. 
His beard and hair grew to uncommon length 
And often he would try to see if they ■■••* - 

Gray had become. He always found them black, 
r l hough they were white, as white as is the snow, 
The darkness showed him but one color: black. 

Ten years were gone. These ten years were to him: 
One long, one endless night. He always asked 
Himself: When will.it dawn? From time to time 
It seemed to him as if he had been there 
A hundred years, yea, e'en a thousand years, 
That long ago the judgment-day had passed, 
The world destroyed, — this prison only left, 



68 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

In which by chance he had forgotten been. 

AH passion in his heart had long since died, 

He nevermore cursed God, ne'er thought of him, 

Even the woe within his heart had died. 

But now and then, when from his dreams he rose, 

He'd weep, because the apparition which 

He recognized to be the spirit of 

His love-adored, — faithful beyond the grave — 

Had called again and then often again. 

But e'er as soon as from his dreams he woke, 

The beauteous phantom disappeared and he 

Heartrendmgly would moan and groan and weep. 

But why, — he asked himself — icomes not my son? 

Did I not have a son? Could he not come? 

And to himself he then would answer thus: 

"My son is surely yet alive, but still 

He can not come, for those can only come 

Here w,ho are dead and only you can come, 

Beloved angel mine! My son's alive 

And is to manhood grown. Oh, how I long 

To know what has become of you, my son, 

My poor beloved orphan boy. Who knows 

What end he came to by the force of fate? 

He may a robber have become and 'neath 

The gallows buried lie. Or followed he 

'My footsteps and like me a prisoner now, 

Right here, my neighbor he in near-by cell? 

My son! my son! do you your father love? 

Do you remember me my darling son 

But hark! what's this? A voice unheard till then. 
The prisoner listens, with tense nerves he lists, 
Dares not even breathe; what reached his ears 
Unlocked his pent-up soul as sunrays ope 
The budding rose. A smile showed on his lips, 
The first smile during all these long ten years. 

A bird has come to rest upon the wall 
Of his forsaken prison, 'neath the small 
Blind window, where it sang its doleful lay. 



THE APOSTLE 69 

How sweetly did it sing! The prisoner said, — 

Or did he only think it, being scared, 

That with 'his loud speech ,he might chase away 

The welcome visitor whose song he heard — 

"Oh, God! how sweet it sounds! In all these years 

Never yet have I heard the songbird's voice 

Ring out to cheer me here and I have been 

Here many a year. Sing! sing again sweet bird, 

Thy song reminds me of my former life. 

Reminds me, even now I am alive, 

Reminds me of the days now long since gone, 

The springtide of my life, of which fair spring's 

Comely flower is ouV youth's first love. 

Thy song reneweth all my heart felt woe, 

But sweetest solace does it also bring, 

And woe, by consolation assuaged 

Is sweeter then the pleasures we enjoy. 

Sing on, my little bird! W'ho sent thee here, 

Who told thee to alight upon this wall 

On wlhidh ere this naught else but curses fell? 

But oh, ye heavens, a presentiment 

Which comes to me and overwhelms my 

thoughts, 
Forbodeth an event which might occur 
And if it does, might kill me with its joy. 
It tells me that now I shall soon be free, 
That not within this pest-hole will I die, 
But die beneath God's dome, the beauteous sky, 
Thou little bird upon the wall, who art 
An unrestricted wanderer who roams 
All o'er the earth in God's free air, thou art 
A messenger anouncing freedom's dawn!^ 
Yes, I have hopes, your coming augurs bliss. 
Be strong, poor heart which sorrow could not crush, 
' Let not the coming joy cause thee to break. 
The world has weary grown to bear the yoke 
And shakes it off, will of its shame be freed, 
Will justice do to those who suffered much 
For freedom's cause, will ope the dungeon-cells, 
And tears of joy will greet the martyrs freed. 



70 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Thou little bird upon the wall who art 
An unrestricted wanderer who roams 
All o'er the earth in God's free air, thou art 
A messenger anouncing freedom's dawn." 

A rattling in the door-lock is now heard, 

The bird — affright — takes to its wings. The door 

Is opened wide, the jailor entereth. 

"Go, you are free", he to the prisoner said. 

The prisoner shrieks out a joyous shout 

Grasps at his head as if to make sure 

That it burst not or that his brain escape. 

"I have it yet", — he cries with childish glee, 

"I have it yet, my brains, not insane I! 

I understand! I have my freedom gained. 

The country's safe, my fatherland is free!" 

The jailor with a scowl but says to hdm: 

"What do you care about a fatherland, 

Thank God that you are free and go now home." 

The prisoner, though, heard not a word, his mind 
Had wandered o'er the distance league on league 
And sought the grave where rests his wife, 
"To thee, beloved soul, I shall go -first." 
He said. "To thee beloved one I go first, 
As thou hast come to me. I'll kiss the earth 
Which gave thee rest. Ah me! how long it takes 
To break these chains, the minutes which it takes 
To file them off are harder to endure 
Than have been all these years of suffering." 



XIX. 

The mother's nursing milk no baby takes 
More eagerly than he inhaled the free 
Air wihidh he won. Each of his breaths, it seemed. 
Took from his weary soul one painful year. 
He felt re-born, restored, and light as light 



THE APOSTLE 71 

As does the butterfly. His mind took wings 
And over nature's verdant fields, — his heart's 
Sweet recollections of the past — it flew. 
The balmy, pure air made him young again, 
Built up, renewed the vigor of his soul, 
His body, though, remained infirm and old, 
With staff in hand he drags his steps along. 
The zephyr gently blows his flowing hair, 
During the ten, he had lived five score years. 

He reached the house the garret-room of which 
Had been his home. He scrutinized each face 
Most searchingly, but none he recognized. 
New tenants they, had he forgotten them? 
And then he made enquires if they knew 
A family that once, but years and years ago, 
Had lived upstairs, — describing his own folks. 

"Oh, yes, I do, I do rememiber well," 

A poor old woman said. "I knew them well, 

She was a dear-good soul, a lady fair. 

The husband, though, was but a godless scamp. 

The law forced him to pay the penalty. 

He was caught and then into prison thrown, 

And if he did not die, he still is there. 

The poor wife, when she learned of his arrest 

And that no more he would return to her: 

Fell in a swoon and never rose again, 

She died, — the poor thing, — of a broken heart. 

I never could make out how could she love, — 

Herself so good, — a worthless man like him, 

Love him so well that she e'en died for him." 

Sylvester listened to the speech he heard 

All unconcerned as had it been said 

Of some strange man. He asked whether she knew 

Where had been burried that good woman who 

Died of a broken heart, and what became 

Of their young son? — "I can not tell you that," — 

The old woman replied,— "I never saw 

Him since the morning of the funeral.. 



72 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The funeral itself, I could'nt attend, 
.1 had a christening on hand that day." 

The husband to himself said: "I shall find, 
I'm bound to find her final resting place. 
From grave to grave I'll go and scrutinize 
Each stone and cross until I come to hers." 
And to the churchyard he then slowly went, 
And looked at every stone and every cross. 
When through, he did it all over again 
And still again, but his beloved one's grave 
He never found. "Ah, well! Then all is o'er! 
Naught left of her, the glorious creature 's gone, 
Without a trace, as disappear the rays 
Of setting sun. The angry storm had swept 
The grave away, uprooted, broke the stone 
God be with her. and all is over now" 



It hurt the poor old man, it hurt him much 
That he her grave had not been able to find 
To shed the tears which still were left to him,— 
His sufferings had made him weep enough, — 
Above the earthly dust of his dear wife. 
He found sweet consolation in the thought 
That in his life the last sorrow this is, 
That he for evermore is done and through 
With sorrow and with woe, that through this life 
He now can roam a shadow without form, 
A human shape without life-giving soul. 
He was in error though, this sorrow was 
Not yet the last. When he his prison left 
He asked. "My country then at last is free?" 
To this enquiry then was no reply, 
He happily believed his country free. 

Ere long, however, what did he observe? 
He saw his country and the world to be 
More deeply bent beneath fell slavery's yoke 
Than e'en ten years before. Man's dignity 



THE APOSTLE 73 

Corrupted day by day, and more and more 
Had grown the tyrant's all mastering strength. 

Had then been all in vain his sufferings? 

In vain the sacrifices made by hearts 

Surcharged with thoughts sublime? In vain 

Then had been all the mighty battles fought? 

That can not be! An hundred times No! No! 

This thought renewed his strength, to flames arose 

The dying embers of his erstwhile fire. 

The broken down old man became a youth, 

Determined, stout of will, upon his brow 

Decision sat, decision of great plans 

On the success of which depends the fate 

Of his own land, nay more, of all the world. 

The plan 's not new, already it has cost 

The lives of thousands, but once must succeed, 

And why not he? He safely hid his plans 

Within the deep recesses of his heart, 

He never even slept near other folk 

So that if in his sleep perchance he talked 

He should thereby his secret not betray, 

The which, if prematurely brought to light 

Endangered its success. He sought no aids — 

Not from ambition that to him alone 

—If once success be gained — the glory be, 

That he alone the mighty work shall do, 

But that no other human being's life 

Endangered be if failure come to him. 

In sumptuous, festive garb the city 's clad. 
The populace, by thousands throngs the streets, 
Rolls like a stream which overflowed its bed 
Through avenues with flags and bunting draped. 
Loud cheers resound, all seems in sunny mood. 
What is this day? What festival is held? 
Did God in His own image come to earth, 
Did with His own hand He break slavery's chains, 
Give back to man his long lost liberties, 
That such a celebration should be held? 
Oh, no! it is not God who walketh there, 



74 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

"Lis but a man, but one who thinks himself 
More than a God, it is the haughty king! 
With condescending pride he walks among 
The crowd as does the mastiff in the midst 
Of little dogs, and heads and knees bend low 
Where'er he looks as bends the storm-swept reed, 
A thousand throats bawl out: "Long Jive the King!" 
Who'd dare among the thousands in the street 
Not cheer at all, or cheer for some one else? 
Who'd dare? One man within the. crowd did dare. 
His thunder-voice resounds o'er all the noise 
And yells and cheers of the assembled crowd. 
He boldly cries aloud: "Death to the King!" 
A shot is heard, — the King lies in the dust... 
Rise, coward King, thou art not hurt, the aim 
Was bad, the bullet did not reach thy heart, 
Tore but thy cloak. To whom thy life thou sold — 
The devil, — he saved thy life. Rise tyrant King 
And wipe the dust off thy pale face which shows 
All plainly what a coward base thou art. 

Who is the murderer? And where is he? 

He stands up straight. Oh, no! he stands no more, 

With blows and kicks he has been felled to earth, 

Half dead he lies and happy they who have 

The chance to spit into his wrinkled face 

And once again kick at his hoary head. 

Poor, wretched people, why heap o'er your head 
The curse of God? Are you not cursed enough? 
You crucified the Lord, our Jesus Christ 
Wasn't that enough? Must you then crucify 
All saviors who try to serve you well? 
Poor wretched folks! A hundred times poor race! 

Within a day or two a scaffold stood 

Upon the city-square. Condemned to die 

A hoary headed man, all fearless stood 

On it, near him: the headsman with his sword, 

— The shining instrument which deals fell death 

The gray-head looked into the eyes of those 



THE APOSTLE 75 

Who came, — a mighty crowd,— to see him die, 
Whose eyes with exultation seemed to burn. 
One tear-drop of deep pity glistened in 
His own eye. He felt sympathy for those 
Who had with blows and kicks belabored hjm, 
And now rejoice to see him yield his life. 
With awful swish the sword sweeps through the air, 
The head rolls to the ground, Sylvester's head! 
The populace bawls loud: "Long live the King!" 

The headsman's men inter Sylvester's corpse 
In the deep grave dug at the scaffold's foot. 

XX 

The servile generation had grown old 

And then died out. — A new race had grown up 

Which with the flush of shame upon their face 

Spoke of their sires. They had resolved to live 

A nobler life. They did. A brave resolve 

Is all that's needful and an iron will. 

A new grown, dauntless generation rose, — 

What from their fathers as an heirloom came 

To them, their chains of slavery, they broke, 

And threw upon the graves of those who had 

Forged them, that the rattling of the chains 

May rouse them up and e'en in their graves 

Cause them to shriek with fear. The victors then 

With grateful hearts named all the heroes brave, — 

The great and saintly men who theretofore 

Had fought to free the race from slavery's bonds, 

And whose reward had been a shameful death. 

Remembered them and wove around their names 

Wreaths of the laurel tree, immortalized 

Their names in songs and gladly would have borne 

Their bones into the nations Dome of Fame!... 

Where could t/hey seek, — where could they find 

what long 
Had mouldered in the ditch beneath the shade 
Of gallows and of scaffold where they died? 



76 ALEXANDER PETOFI 



CHILDE JOHN. 

(JANOS VITSZ) 

I. 

The summer's sun descends with burning glow 

Upon the hamlet's shepherd-lad below. 

No need for it howe'er, he anyway 

Feels warm enough without the sun's fierce ray. 

The flame of love glows in his youthful soul; 
A browsing herd is under his control. 
His sheep-skin cloak he spread upon the grass 
Reclining on it he thinks of his lass. 

Around him waves a sea of flowers bright, 
The flowers though do not arrest his sight. 
Stone's throw from him runneth a babbling brook 
To which with eager eyes he casts his look. 

He cares not for the brooklet's silver-sheen. 

A fair blonde maid he on its shore hath seen. 

He gazes at her figure full of grace, 

Her flowing locks, round breast and beauteous face. 

The maiden's skirt is rolled up to her knee, 

— Washing her linen sheets she would be free, — 

Her bare feet were a most inspiring sight 

To Kukoricza John's heartfelt delight. 

The shepherd lad, reclining on the lawn, 
Who could he be? Our Kukoricza John! 
In her, who in the brooklet laves her sheet 
Helen, his fond heart's pearly gem we greet. 



CHILDE JOHN 77 

"Pearl of my heart, my darling Helen, why" — 
John says to her, — "dost turn away thy eye? 
Do look on me, beloved one, 'neath the sky 
No other bliss or happiness have I." 

"Pray, turn to me thy blue eyes' loving ray, 
Just for a moment, dear, thy work delay, 
Come to the shore, that in a fond embrace 
A soulful kiss I press on thy sweet face." 

"I'd gladly go, thou knowest, John, howe'er, 
I am in' such a haste, I do not dare... 
My mother is a stepmother and mean, 
She'd scold me if with thee I would be seen". 

This was the answer fair, blonde Helen gave, 
But never stops her sheets with zeal to lave. 
The shepherd rises then and coming near 
Inticingly he pleads: "Helen, my dear, 

"My turtle-dove, come here, do come to me. 
One hug, one kiss, — that's all, — I want from thee. 
Be not afraid, the old jade 's far away, 
Let not thy lover be his pining's prey." 

Thus he allured her with his dulcet speech, 
Embraced her lovingly when in his reach; 
He kissed her; once? Oh, no! God only knows 
How many times he kissed his budding rose. 



II. 



Time swiftly flies, upon the brooklet's face 
The setting sun the twilight's red displays. 
The 'stepmother at home is furious, — 
"Where is Helen?" — her thoughts are ominous. 

The mean old hag spoke to herself like this^ 
"I'll find out where that daugther of mine is." 



78 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

— And added, in a no wise pleasant mind: 
"Woe her if idle she has been I find!" 

Great woe is thine, Helen, poor orphan maid, 
Beware! She's coming up to thee, the jade, 
Her big mouth opes and with a piercing scream 
Arouseth thee thus from thy sweet love's dream: 

"Thou miserable wretch, vile shameless face 
"Is this the way thou dost thyself disgrace? 
"With godless things to fool away the day! 
"Did ever man!... Go home! — The devil may 



"Enough! Kfeep still, old hag, or else beware 
Before you raise my wroth, and if you dare 
Hurt Helen, or e'en with your speech abuse, 
The teeth still left within your jaw you'll lose." 

His trembling love defending thus, he had— « 
The gentle shepherd lad — grown truly mad. 
On her tormentor casts an angry glance, 
Then to this threat he giveth utterance: 

"If you want not that I burn down your hut: 
Make not heavier this poor orphan's lot. 
Her woik is hard she is in constant dread, 
And all she gets from you 's a crust of bread." 

"Now, Helen dear, go home, thou hast thy speech 
If she should maltreat thee, my help beseech! 
And you,— old dame — you leave this girl alone 
You are yourself as a bad penny known." 

He picketh up his cloak, by his wrath stirred 
He parts in haste to get -back to his herd. 
When lo! He finds that while he was away 
Some of the cows of his had gone astray. 



CHILDE JOHN 79 

III. 

The sun already touched the earth when John 
Could with the herd he Tiad together drawn 
Start toward home. Did wolves or did a thief 
Pillage, while he away? Great is his. grief. 

Whatever caused his loss, — e'en if he knew, 
It would not help, — there was one thing to do: 
To tell the husbandman the truth; and so 
He resolutely starts homeward to go. 

"Woe be to thee," he to himself doth say, 
As sad at heart he slowly wends his way. 
"The master 's anyhow a luckless wight, 
And now this loss — but I will do what's right." 

With thoughts like this a-preying in his mind 
He reaches home, right at the gate to find 
His irate host, to count, as wont, the drove 
Ere John, each eve, them to their stable drove. 

"Don't count them, Sir, you will miss more than one^ 
I can not hide the truth, the damage 's done," 
— Said Kukoricza John — "my heart is sore, 
God knows I wish I could the loss restore.' 

The owner took John's language as a joke, 
Gives his moustache a twist: "Oho! provoke 
Me not," he said in jesting-threat'ning tone, 
"Thou art well off, leave well enough alone." 

The truth howe'er was quick enough found out. 
John's master, half insane, a mighty shout 
Emits. Where is my pitch-fork?" is his cry, 
"I'll run him through, right at this spot he'll die. 

"Thief! Robber! Gallows-bird," he madly cries, 
"The ravens should scratch out both of thy eyes. 
Did I keep thee for this and fed thee too? 
Quick for my iron fork, I'll run him through." 



80 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

"Out of my sight! Let me see thee no more!" 
John's master yells and curses foul he swore. 
A mighty bar of iron is at hand, 
With which he tries on John a blow to land. 

Now Kukoricza John was not afraid, 
No coward he, of sterner stuff was made: 
O'er twenty in a fight had victor been, 
Altough but twenty winters he had seen. 

Young, strong and bold, nevertheless he ran. 
Not that he was afraid of his old man, 
He knew that he'd done wrong, could he then stop 
To fight the man he wronged, who brought him up? 

He ran till his pursuer stopped to run, 
Then only was he with his swift flight done, 
And then he stopped, then staggered right and left, — 
Then ran again as of his mind bereft. 

IV. 

When like a mirror shone the brooklet's face, — 
Lit up by thousands stars' illuming rays, — 
John found himself at Helen's garden gate, 
How he got there, not he could e'en relate. 

He stopped. Upon his reed-pipe then he blew, 
The saddest, most heartrending tune he knew. 
The dew drops on the blade o'grass and leaf_ 
Were tears of stars which felt with him his grief. 

Helen already slept. In summer nights 

To sleep upon the front porch she delights. 

She was aroused by the familiar tune, 

She rose, goes down, and is at Johns side soon. 

She did not like his looks, she seemed affright, 
This is her faltering speech made at his sight: 
"What ails thee John, thou art so ghastly white 
As is the moon on dismal autumn night?" 



CHILDE JOHN 81 

"Why should I not be pale? beloved one, hear? 
Thy sweet face I no more shall see, I fear." 
"Oh, John, thy looks have frightened me enough, 
For heaven's sake, talk not such -foolish stuff." 

"My heart's fair springtide, we shall meet no more, 
Nor will my reed again my woes outpour. 
This is my last embrace, my good-bye kiss, 
Forever I myself from here dismiss." 

The poor, ill fated lad then tells her all, 
Upon his weeping sweetheart's breast doth fall. 
Caresses her, but turns away his eyes, 
She must not see that he too freely cries. 

"Dear, beauteous Helen, sweetest rose, good-bye! 
Let now and then thy thoughts towards me fly. 
If thou should'st see dry stalks by stormwind borne, 
Think of thy roving lover from thee torn." 

"Dear John, good bye; go, if 'tis God's decree! 
Each step in life thou makest He be with thee! 
See'st thou a faded flower thrown away, -j 

Think of thy sweetheart left here to decay/' 

They parted as from tree-twigs parts the lea'f, 
Their hearts grew desolate weighed down with grief. 
Poor Helen weeps, the shower from her eyes, 
John with his flowing shirt sleeves gently dries. 

He started, never looked though where he went, 
What did he care? To be gone his intent. 
The crackling of the storks, the shepherds' song 
He did not heed, but went his way headlong. 

He left his home behind him long ago, 
He saw no more the herdsmen's bonfires' glow. 
When once he stopped and turned to take a look, 
The tower viewed him like a ghastly spook. 



82 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

If any one then would have been near-by, 
He could have heard him heave a heartfelt sigh. 
The air is cleft by cranes which swiftly fly, 
They do not hear him though, they were so high. 

He jogged along into the silent night, 
The ample fur coat round his shoulders quite 
Distinctly flaps. The cloak is heavy, though 
More weighty is his sore heart's awful woe. 



When dawn's first rays had caused the moon to flee, 
The prairy-heath spread 'fore him like a sea. 
From east to the horizon's far off end: 
Before him lies the broad and level land. 

No bush, no tree, no blooming flower there, 
A dewy blade o' grass is even rare. 
The sun's first rays show at the right a mead, 
Also a pond, though o'ergrown with reed. 

Within the reed a long necked heron tries 
To find its feed of toadlet, frog and flies. 
Above the centre flits a fishing bird, — 
Swift on its wing, — its cries are far off heard. 

John jogged along, together with his shade 
And with the dark thoughts which on his mind 

weighed. 
The bright sun o'er the country sheds its light, 
Within John's heart though all is darkest night. 

The sun had reached the top a-spreading heat, 
It then came to John's mind 'tis time to eat. 
At noon, the day before, he'd eaten last; 
Fatigued and hungry, thought to break his fast. 



CHILDE JOHN 83 

All worn out, — his feet could hardly drag, — 
Sat down, the rest of bacon from his bag 
He ate. The bright sun looks at him from high, 
A mirage views him with its fairy eye. 

He had enjoyed his modest feed, then went 
Up to the pond where on his knees he bent, 
The broad rim of his hat with water filled, 
Which he then dranlk, his burning thirst thus stilled. 

The pond's shore he left gratefully behind, 
His heavy eyelids him of sleep remind, 
To have a restful sleep in soft grass-bed, 
Upon a molehill laid his weary head. 

His dreams carried him back from whence he came, 
He held is his embrace the trembling frame 
Of sweet Helen, but when to kiss her tried, 
A thund'rous clap roused him all terrified. 

He looked around the field with startling eyes, 
Tempestuous clouds — he saw — o'erlhung the skies, 
So sudden did the thunderstorm grow, 
As his own life a-sudden had turned to woe. 

The world was clad in a most pitch-dark hue, 
It thundered loud, God's arrows lightnings flew. 
The channels of the clouds seemed ope to be: 
The water of the pond foamed like a sea. 

John, of his fur cloak turned the inside out, 
Leaned on his staff, long, strong and stout. 
The broadrim of his hat he turned down, 
The storm he viewed thus with an icy frown. 

As sudden as the storm had come it went, 
As quickly it had all its fury spent. 
On wings of wind the clouds were blown away: 
A beauteous rainbow illumines the day. 



84 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

John shaketh from his cloak the drops of rain, 
And after that he starts his walk again. 
When on that day the sun lay down to rest: 
John would not yet his two feet's speed arrest.. 

Still on he trod, into the forest-heart; 
His creaking steps set birds on wings to start. 
He hears the raven's loud, ominous cries,... 
The black bird just had pecked some dead beasts' 

eyes. 

No forest, beast, or raven does he heed: 
John Kukoricza never lags his speed. 
The pale moon spreads her yellow silvery sheen 
All o'er the forest's narrow footpath's green. 



VI. 

Round midnight must have been the time of day, 
When John beheld a light not far away; 
Approaching closer still, he found the light 
The window of a house is, lit up bright. 

When John saw this, he mused this wise: "I think 

I sorely need a rest and food and drink, 

This surely is a tavern in this wood 

To rest here over night will do me good." 

John was in error though, 't was not an inn. 
Twelve robbers had th.eir headquarters within. 
The reason why the house was lit up bright 
Was, all the robbers were at home that night. 

Night, robbers, sword and gun — consider well — 
Are things which might of dangers great foretell — 
John's heart w^as brave and stout, he knew no fear. 
He entered, greeting them with loud and clear 

Bold voice. "Good evening, Sirs, God bless you all!" 
A migthy tumult rose within the hall, 



CHILDE JOHN 85 

The twelve men rose, they reached for gun and 

sword; 
Thus spoke to him the leader of the horde: 

"Thou son of misery! how dost thou dare 
Cross o'er this threshold of our hidden lair 
Hast father, mother thou? Hast thou a wife? 
Thou wilt not see them anymore in life." 

John's heart, on hearing this, remained serene, 
No trace of pallor on his face was seen. 
The leader's threat had left him selfposessed, 
This is the answer he aloud expressed: : 

"Who has for aught in life something to fear 
"Is wise if to this place he comes not near, 
"But life or death, to me, are all the same, 
"I care naught who you are, I boldly came 

"And, therefore, if you can, then let me live, 
"And for the rest of night some shelter give, 
"But if .you think 'tis best that I should die 
"Here! strike the blow! I will not raise a cry." 

Said it all quietly and then stood still. 
Amazement does the dozen robbers fill. 
The chief spoke up, — but first he nearer drew, — 
"List', brother, I've to say a thing or two." 

"Thou art as brave a lad I ever knew 
"God made thee for a robber, good and true, 
"Life is despised by thee, death fearest not, 
"We need thee, come, and cast with us thy lot. 

"To steal, to rob, to Skill, that is our fun, 
"Our prey 's the richest by thieves ever won 
"These barrels are full of gold, just look around, 
"Come, lad, have we in thee a comrade found?" 

Ludicrous thoughts his quick brain vivified, 
Apparently good natured he replied: 



86 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

"This day is of my woeful life the best, 
"That I am yours, this handshake shall attest!" 

"That still it better be" — the leader cried, 
"Let's now the bumpers fill, we're well supplied 
"With splendid wines from cave of priests we stole, 
"Let's see the bottom of our flowing bowl." 

They did. The bowl coursed round and round again. 
Wine made their heads the churchyards of their 
Our John took carefully but frugal sips, brain 

Though urged to drink, he only wet his lips. 

The wine brougth sleep to the twelve robbers' eyes, 
— The very thing on which our John relies, — 
When to the right and left dead-drunk they fell. 
John to himself said this: "This goeth well. 

"Good night to you, you sleep here, I suppose, 
"Till angel Gabriel his trumpet blows! 
"Revenging hundreds innocents you slew 
"I now shall bring eternal night to you!" 

"Now for the barrels of gold. I'll fill my bag. 
"Which I then home, to thee, sweet Helen, drag. 
"No more thy mean stepmothers slave thou'lt be! 
"I take thee'for my wife, 'tis God's decree! 

"Right in our hamlet I'll have built a house, 
"And into it I'll lead thee as my spouse. 
"There we shall live, life's cares behind as leave, 
"As lived in Paradise Adam and Eve. 

"But oh! my God! my Lord, What do I say? 
"I take with me these robbers' cursed prey? 
"Each piece of gold I find must be blood-stained, 
"WitTT wealth like that no bliss was ever gained. 

"I shall not touch this gold; no, not a piece, 
Did L my conscience would have no peace. 



CHILDE JOHN 87 

"Bear bravely, Helen dear, life's struggle and strife, 
"To God above entrust thy orphaned life. 

When through with his -soliloquising speech, 
John came out with a burning light, to each 
Four corners of the roof applies the light, 
Upleaped the angry flames into the height. 

A second, — and the roof 's a ball of fire, 
The flame's red streaks leap high and higher, 
The smoke had turned to black the sky's clear blue, 
The bright moon of before showed pallor's hue. 

The heat, the smoke, the brigiht glow of the flame 
Aroused the owls and bats and forth they came, 
Their flight disturbed as on their wings to rise: 
Sways e'en the twigs of trees of larger size. 

The first rays of the rising sun threw light 
Upon a smoking pile, a ghastly sight 
Behold as through the wreck'd window they peep: 
Twelve skeletons, charred, lie there in a heap... 



VII. 



Throughout the world he roamed, through many a 

land, 
He had forgotten e'en the robber band, 
When, all at once, before him dawns a light, 
The sunrays falling on drawn sabres bright. 

A line of fine hussars came up the road, 
Their swords it were which in the sun thus glowed. 
The ihorses which they mount neigh, rear and prance, 
Proud of their charge they seem, step high and 

dance. 

When John beheld them as they nearer drew, 
His heart beat fast and faster still, he knew 



88 ALEXANDER PETOEI 

Their world-wide fame. He mused and sighed: 
^ , "Ah, me! 

Could I enlist, how happy I would be!" 

And when the soldiers had come nigh, he heard 
The leader say to him, — how his heart stirred, — 
"Look out, my lad, thou'lt step yet on thy head, 
Why art thou by such sorrow overspread?" 

John sighed, but said:— encouraged by the sight— 

"In all the world I am the saddest wight. 

If you would let me be one of you, I... 

I'd dare look in the midday-sun's bright eye." 

The leader said: "Consider well, my boy, 

We do not go just now feasts to enjoy. 

The Turk broke o'er the French, The French, 

's our friend, 
That's where we go! Our allies to defend! 

"Why, Sir, this is still more so to my taste. 
Pray, let me in the fighting, line be placed; 
Do I not kill, my sorrow killeth me, 
To war! to fight! to kill! I go with glee. 

'Tis true, I rode a donkey until now; 
— A stepherd I have been, — but you'll allow, 
A M|agyar I ! all Magyars ride of course, 
For us created God the saddle horse!" 

John said much with his flowing speech, but more 
E'en said his fiery eyes. The hussar corps 
A likink took to him; with welcome cheer 
Received him then and there; a volunteer. 

It would be fun indeed could it be told 
How John felt in his trousers: red with gold, 
And when his cloak upon his shoulders fell, 
The bright sword drew with proud and joyous yell. 



CHILDE JOHN 89 

When John into the saddle sprang, his horse 
Would kick sky-high, he did'nt mind, of course, 
Sat in the saddle secure with grace and ease, 
No earthquake could him from his seat release. 

His comrades loved his manners and his ways, 
Would never stop his strength and beauty praise; 
Where'er they went and would in quarters lie 
Departing thence, the girls for him would cry. 



The truth about John and the girls is this: 
He found not one of them as fair as his 
Sweet Helen was, all o'er the world he met 
No peer of her on whom his heart is set. 



VIII. 

The army marched and marched, far, very far, 
And reached the centre of the land of Tar, 
The dog-faced Tartars lived within this land, 
The Magyars new: great danger is at hand. 

The dog-facedTartar's King spoke thus: "Hussars! 
How dare you come into this land of Tars? 
To have come here, ye madman, was too rash 
Do you not now, we feed on human flesh?" 



The Magyar's fright was great. A hundred they, 
Four hundred thousand Tartars' easy prey. 
Good fortune 's theirs, a righteous Moorish King 
— The Tartar's guest, — the needful heep doth bring. 



The moorish King was quick to take their part. 
He knew the Magyar people's noble heart. 
He traveled once in Magyarland, where he 
Enjoyed the kindest hospitality. 



90 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The Moorish King had not forgotten this. 
To save his friends he felt his duty is. 
He took his friend, the Tartar King aside 
To pacify him with this speech then tried. , 

"My great, good friend, don't hurt this people here. 
They will not harm your land, you need not fear: 
I know them well. To let them pass your land, 
As token of our friendship, I demand." 

"For your sake, comrade, I shall let them go," 
— The Tartar King replied; — "I shall bestow 
My help on them, to pass safe through my land, 
And everywhere receive a helping hand." 

Indeed, no harm had come to them, 't is true, 
Still, they were glad when they had said adieu 
Forever to the land where they could fare 
On naught else but on figs and flesh of bear. 



IX. 



The hills and vales of Tartar-land, — did they 
Look for the Hussars, — found them far away; 
For they had reached great Talyanland and marched 
On forest roads by rosemarry-trees arched. 



Naught happened there at all that needs be told, 
Except, that they encountered bitter cold. 
For there 't is always winter as we know, 
Our men marched o'er eternal ice and snow. 



But Magyar blood flowed in their veins, and so 
However cold, they bravely onward go. 
To warm themselves a bit, what did they do? 
Their horses bore on their own backs! That's true! 



CHILDE JOHN 91 

X. 

And thus they came into the land of Poles, 
Then into one the Indian controls. 
For France and India are adjacent lands, — 
The dangerous road between them though commands 

The greatest courage, as you'll see from this: 
The centre of the land but hilly is. 
But then the hills grow step by step, — so high 
That at the borders they reach to the sky. 

Of course, the army here perspired much, 
The men took off their cloaks, neckties and such. 
By the eternal! Was'nt the burning sun 
Away from them but just an hour's run? 

They did not eat aught else but chunks of air, 
It was quite hard, each man bit off his share: 
How they obtained their drink was really fun: 
They wrung a cloudlet and the trick was done. 

They finally had reached the mountains' top. 
It was so hot, that they were forced to stop 
To march in day time, so they walked at night, 
This too was dangerous, their horses might 

— They feared, — e'en stumble o'er the shining stars. 
— Stars in a rider's way, his progress bars; — 
John mused: "Whene'er a star shoots from the sky, 
" — 'T is said — it means a human life must die. 

"Thy fortune 'tis, mean step-mother below 
"That I, which is your life's star do not know. 
"For if I did, you'd torture her no more, 
I would kick your star out of heaven's door." 

Then the descent began and soon the land 
Would into fields of wide lowland expand, 
The heat abates with each step they advance, 
And ceases when they enter into France. 



92 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

XL 

France is so fine a realm, she justifies 

Her name: a new Canaan, a paradise. 

The sweet tooth of the Turks ached for the land, 

They reached for it with thievish, murderous hand. 

When our Magyar Hussars arrived, they found 
Them hard at work — the robbers — all around. 
They robbed the church, the altar and the grave, 
And stole the wine from cellar and from cave. 

Found burning cities' flames light up the sky 
And countless dead and wounded meets their eye. 
The King was driven from the royal quarter, 
And stolen his beloved, only daughter. 

Our men thus found, just by a lucky chance, 
The homeless, roaming, exiled King of France. 
And when the Magyar Hussars met him thus, 
They shed for him a tear, real dolorous. 

The exiled King thus spoke to them: "Is not 
" — My ifriends — my share in life a cruel lot? 
"With Darius' wealth my treasures could compete, 
"Extreme want is now mine in my retreat." 

To cheer him up, the leader said to him: 
"Don't worry King of France, we are in trim, 
"We'll meet the heathen horde, we'll make them 

dance 
"For daring thus to treat the King of France. 

"To night we'll take a rest, we need a rest, 
"The road was long we feel somewhat depressed; 
"To-morrow morning when the sun shall rise, 
"We'll reconquer for you your Paradise." 

"But how about my child, my daughter fair," — 
Laments the King, — "where is she! Where? 



CHILDE JOHN - 93 

"A Turk carried her off; upon my life! 

"Who brings her back receives her as his wife." 

By this fine speech the Hussars were inspired, 
The heart of each with golden hope was fired. 
One great resolve causeth each heart to stir: 
I'll bring her back or else I'll die for her! 

John Kukoricza was. the only one 

Whose mind, — from what he heard, — no fancies 

spun. 
John's mind was wandering, far, far away... 
He thought of sweet Helen, his darling fay. 



XII. 



As is his wont, next morn the sun arose 
But ne'er yet did he witness scenes like those 
He saw that morn the moment he appeared, 
Just as the bars of th' earth's horizon cleared. 

The army bugle sounds, the trumpets blare, 
The boys are up and for the day prepare. 
Their swords are bright and sharp, and then ' 

of course 
Well gromed and saddled is each Hussar's horse. 

With might and main the French King would insist, 
That he too would them in their, fight assist: 
The leader though, a thoughtful man and wise, _ 
Thought best to give the King this sound advice: 

"Not so, my gracious King, you stay behind, 
Age has your strength and vigor undermined. 
I know, that still to you your valor 's left, 
But what's the use if of your strength bereft? 

First trust to God, then us, that's all, I pray, 
We pledge ourselves! ere over is the day 



94 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

We'll rout your foes and from your lands have. 

thrown, 
And you'll resume your ancient royal throne." 

The Hussars then into the saddles spring, 

Go forth the Turk to find; they shout and sing. 

A herald send ahead to tell the Turk: 

To be prepared for this day's heavy work. 

The herald returns. The trumpets sound a blast 
One mighty cheer! The fight is on at last! 
The clash of steel, the Magyar's lusty yell, 
Their warcry is which does of valor tell. 

They drive their spurs into their horses flanks, 
The eartlh vibrates as onward rush the ranks. 
Or was it, that the earth's own heart beats loud, 
Aghast at deathly blows dealt by that crowd? 

Seven horses' tails adorn the Turkish chief. 
His pouch is big enough — is your belief — 
To hold a barrel of wine, his nose is red, 
Looks like a ripe cucumber, — people said. 

The awful bellied Turkish Chief gave then 
The sign for the assembling of his men. 
The Turkish force lined up as if at drill, 
When our Hussars rushed at them with a will. 

That rush howe'er had not been children's play 
Terrific was the turmoil of the fray. 
The fighting Turks perspired their very blood, 
The green field soon was soaked by red sea's flood. 

O, holy smoke! The day was hot! O my! 
The Turks' dead bodies lay a mountain high!! 
The mighty bellied chief though still alive, 
Tried John to reach with his swords vicious drive. 

Our John did not regard this as a joke;. 
Parried the thrust and to the Chief thus spoke: 



CHILDE JOHN 95 

"My friend! thou art too big for one, let's see, 
Can not this blow of mine make two of thee?" 

He did what he had said that he would do, 

And actually cut the chief in two — 

The two halves fell from the perspiring horse 

To right and left neath John's blows mighty force. 

Their chief's fall made the coward Turks affright. 
Presto! they turn around and took to flight. 
They ran, and even now they still would run 
Had our pursuing men the race not won. 

Our men came up to them; a carnage spreads, 
Dandelions in-bloom like drop their heads. 
One only Turk escapes, that is he tries, 
Our Kokoricza John after him flies. 

It was the Pasha's son who sought by flight 
To save .himself; there 's something white 
Seen in his lap. It was the French Princess — 
Unconscious, in a faint, and motionless. 

It was a while till John had him outrun. 
"Stop, heathen" — yelled to him, — "or just in fun 
I cut on that mean frame of yours a hole 
Through which to hell can pass your worthless soul". 

The pasha's son howe'er would not have stopped, 
If not, at last, his race-horse had not dropped. 
The horse dropped dead. The Pasha's son began 
To plead for mercy, thus his prayer ran: 

"Have mercy on me, Sir! brave noble" Sir! 

If nothing else, my youth should your heart stir 

To generous sympathy! O, let me live! 

All that I have, for it, I freely give!" 

"Keep what you have, your worthless life keep too, 
I am too good to kill a scamp like you. 



96 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Be off! and tell at home what was the fate 

Of the mean robber horde found in this state." 

He then alights, comes to the princess nigh 
Looks into her most beauteous lustrous eye 
Wthich, coming to herself, she oped amazed, 
To John she then a greeting like this phrased: 

"Dear saviour, I ask not who thou art, 
I simply say: I thank thee from my heart, 
My gratittude is thine through all my life, 
And dost thou care, I will become thy wife." 

In John's veins hot red blood, no water flowed. 
His heart beat fast and loud with passion glowed, 
Yet, manfully his feelings he subdued, 
His vows to fair Helen all other loves exclude. 

Most tenderly he to the princess says: 

"To thy good Dad, sweet one, let's wend our ways, 

Before him we will talk this matter o'er 

And gently he the princess homeward bore. 



XIII. 



John Kukoricza and the royal maid 
Came to the battlefield in the evening shade. 
The last rays of the setting sun — aghast — 
With bloodshot eyes looked on what here had 

passed: 

Saw nothing else but one great field of death 
And flocks of ravens it encountereth. 
What it beheld gave not much of delight, 
It dropped into the sea to shun the sigiht 

Nigh to that field there was a good sized lake 
With water christal pure. The Hussars take 



CHILDE JOHN 97 

Themselves to it to lave therein and red 

The water 's from the blood the Turks have shed. 

The Hussars, when all spick and span each man, 
To his palace escort the French King then. 
The royal home was not too far away 
With ease they reach it ere the close of day. 

Just as the army reached the royal fort, 
John Kukoricza too arrived at court. 
The beauteous princess who walked at his right 
Looked like nigh to a cloud a rainbow bright. 

When the old King saw her he loved best, 
Wth joy atrembling fell upon her breast, 
He shovered kisses on her rosey face 
And said, — still holding, her in his embrace: 

"My happiness is now complete, and now 
Let some one call my good old cook, I vow 
You all must hungry be; now let us dine, 
You, heroes of the day, are guests of mine."' 

"My King!"a voice is heard — "here is the cook! 
You need not wait; I the precaution took, 
All's ready and in the adjoining hall . ; *f : 

A truly royal feast awaits you all!" 

The voice of the cook was pleasant to hear: 
Like music to the Magyar Hussar's ear. 
They did not wait to be pressed very long, 
And soon around the laden tables throng. 

As merciless as with the Turks they were 
They with the dishes dealt which they found there, 
No wonder, they had grown hungry indeed: 
All day at work on their heroic deed. 

Around and 'round had gone the well filled bowl 
The King arose and from his lips then roll 



98 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

These words: "Ye heroes brave, draw near I pray 
Because of great import is what I say." 

The Magyar Hussars with attention list. 
None would a word of the King's speech have 

missed. 
Who first pours down a drink, his throat then clears, 
T-his is the speech which then the company hears: 

"First tell me what's thy name, young heroe brave. 
YV\ho my beloved daugther's life didst save?" 
"John Kukoricza is my honest name, 
Tis rustic, true, 1 bear it with no shame!" 

This was John Kukoricza's prompt reply. 
Still prompter these words from the King's lips fly: 
"I now rechristen thee! Henceforth thy name 
As Childe John shall be known, I now acclaim!" 

"Childe John, thou saved my daughter's life to day 
Thy bravery deserves the richest pay. 
Make her thy wife, when as my son art known: 
I in thy favor shall resign my throne. 



"Since I am King, many a year has flown 
And as you all can see, I've hoary grown. 
The royal cares weigh heavy on my head, 
He shall be King who doth my daugther wed." 

"I place upon thy brow my royal crown, 
I only ask that thou, when I step down ■ 
Assign to me right here a room where I 
Might live in peace near thee, until I die." 

This was the speech the Magyar Hussars heard, 
The heart of all was with amazement stirred. 

The words our John most forcibly impress, 
Fie tries his heartfelt thanks thus to express: 



CHILDE JOHX 99 

"I thank you, Sir! I do not merit though 
The kindliness which on me you bestow. 
Though to your goodness I'm most sensitive, 
I must refuse the rich reward you give." 

"In a long story I would have to tell 
The reasons which my 'T can not" compel. 
The telling of the story would intrude 
On your patience and I hate to be rude." 

"Speak up! tell us thy reasons, one by one, 
We'll gladly listen to thy speech, my son." 
The King to John encouragingly said. 
Who then before them his life's story spread. 



XIV. 

"Well, how shall I begin? And, first of all 
Why people me "John Kukoricza" call? 
A foundling I, — was in a cornfield found 
And Kukoricza call myself was bound. 

A wealthy farmer's kind, good-hearted wife 
— 'T was often told me in my later life — 
On passing through the field heard baby-cries, 
And in a nearby furrow she espies 

Poor me, wrapped in a rag and crying loud, 
She took me up and to herself she vowed: 
"Poor waif, I have no children of my own, 
As my adopted son thou shalt be known." 

The good old woman had a husband though, 
Who was not pleased and his dislike would show, 
Whene'er he saw me in her care, he'd swiear 
Blasphemous ouss words which the household scare. 

She tried it hard his wrath to pacify: 
"Stop being angry, Dad, tell me: could I 



100 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Leave him abandoned in that field to die? 
Would mercy have on me our Lord on High? 

And then, dear Dad, he will be of good use 
Around the farm. Cows, oxen, sheep and yews 
Need overseers, when grown up he'll repay 
With good work what we do for him to day." 

Somehow she wins him o'er and by degrees 
He yields, but altough I tried hard to please, 
He never liked me. If in ought I failed 
With whip and cane I promptly was assailed. 

Midst working hard and thrashings had, I grew 
Of joys and pleasures I but little knew. 
The only bliss which for my life's ills paid: 
Was in our village lived a sweet, blonde maid. 

The maiden's mother soon stepped in her grave,' 
Her father took a second wife, and gave 
A stepmother to her, and then he died. 
To that stepmother thus her life was tied. 

That maid has been my joy amidst my woes, 
Upon my thorny life the only rose; 
I loved her, by her sight I was enthralled, 
The orphans of the village we were called. 

E'en as a boy, could I to her be nigh, 
I would not have preferred a piece of pie. 
The Sundays were my only days of joys, 
I could then play with her amidst the boys. 

When I had grown a good sized lad to be 
And felt to have a heart which warmeth me, 
And I could kiss her: Well; for me, the world 
Could crash and into nothingness be hurled. 

Her wicked stepmother oft punished her, 

— iMay God ne'er pardon her, — I tell j^ou-Sir, 



CHILDE JOHN 101 

I often had to come to her defence, 

My threats alone checked her ibrute violence. 

From bad to worse too went my own affairs, 
My dear old benefactress died. Death spares 
Not e'en the best; she found me and to me 
A mother good and true .had tried to be. 



Hard is my heart, in all my life I ne'er 
Shed many tears, but at her death, despair 
Seized me, my feelings I could not restrain, 
The tears I wept were like a shower of rain. 



My sweet Helen, my blonde-haired darling too 
With sorrow genuine shed not a few 
Most heartfelt tears. The dear departed soul 
Had been most kind to her, did oft console 

Her in her misery, would often say: 
"Just wait! I'll make you each other's one day, 
You shall be man and wife and I declare 
Our village ne'er will see a finer pair." 

And sorely we the happy days await. 
She would have brought about our married state, 
(The dear old soul e'er kept her given word,) 
Ah me! she died, and now is sepulchred. 

And so it came about that when she died, 
We two were forced our hopes to cast aside. 
Still while our hopeless cause we would deplore: 
We loved each otiher more than e'er before. 

But God Almighty willed it otherwise 
Our only bliss — to meet — He e'en denies! 
Some of my flock I once let go astray, 
My master thereupon drove me away. 

To my beloved Helen with tearful eye 

And throbbing heart I said my last good-bye. 



102 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

1 wandered through the world without an aim, 
Until at last a soldier I became. 

1 never told Helen, that she remain 

Mjy own sweetheart until we meet again. 

J never told her 1 shall faithful be. 

No pledge was needful for our loyalty. 

Give up all thought of me thou fair princess. 
Because if sweet Helen 1 can't possess: 
This heart of mine on no girl will be set 
Should even death to call for me forget." 



XV. 

This is the story which our brave John told, 
His hearer's hearts it could not have left cold. 
The princess' face is all suffused with tears, 
From pity and regret at what she hears. 

The king then says to him: Dear boy, I see. 
Thou can'st not marry her, thou art not free; 
I want to pay though, my gratitude's debt. 
With a refusal 1 must not be met. 

The king then opes his treasury's big door. 
And for a servant calls. With precious ore 
The biggest bag — as much as it can hold — 
Is filled. John ne'er in his life saw so much gold. 

"Well, John. "the king then said, '"thou saved her life, 
But inasmuch thou can'st make her thy wife: 
This bag of gold shall pay then what I owe, 
Good luck to thee and thy bride it bestow!" 

"I would detain thee, but I know 'tis hard, 
Thy prompt return to thy love to retard. 
Thy comrades must remain, thou go, my boy! 
I want them first some feasts I'll give enj-oy." 



CHILDE JOHN 103 

The king had guessed aright our brave John's mind: 
To start at once for Helen's home he pined. 
He bid tender good-lbyes to all around, 
And in a boat he'll soon be homeward bound. 

The king, his friends, all took him to the sea, 
He heard all kinds "good-bye!" "Good luck to thee!" 
Until t'he boat in distant fog was lost 
Loud cheered for him the hussars and their host. 



XVI. 

The boat on which he had embarked its sails 

To the propitious wind set which prevails. 

The boat rolls fast enough, but faster still 

The flights of thought are which his mind then fill. 

These are the thoughts which now his brain control: 

"Ash, dear Helen, sweet angel of my soul, 

Hast a presentiment, does thou expect 

That homeward 's bound thy rich bridegroom-elect? 

''Yes, I am homewards bound, so that at last 
We are made one. After our woeful past 
A loving pair will be, our ills allayed. 
And rich, not need our fellowbeings' aid. 

My patron, true, he did not treat me well; 
But no thoughts of revenge in my heart dwell, 
To him is due my present happiness. 
In fact, he some rewards deserves, I guess! 

Such is the thought whieh his mind agitates 
The while the boat its speed accelerates, 
But Hungary was still quite far, for she 
And France divided are by land and sea. 

One eve, upon the dock he took a walk. 
He heard the captain to the boatswain talk: 



104 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

"Look at that setting sun, how red the sky. 
We'll have a storm, those colors signify." 

John heard the speech but did not =>eem to care. 
A flock of storks he saw high in the air. 
It was in autumn days, — they migrate. — and 
These birds then surely come from his own land. 

With gentlest lunging he luoked at the birds. 
As if they would good news bring him in words. 
Good news from her. his sweet Helen, and then 
Good news from home, he shall see soon again. 



XVI I. 



Just as the sunset of the eve before 

Had indicated it, next morn' a roar 

Was heard, it was the storm swept ocean's waves 

Whipped by the tempest which with fury raves. 

As usual when such awful storms prevail. 
Great is the fright of those then under sail, 
In vain their efforts are their ship to save. 
No help! their fate 't seems is a watery grave. 

Black, heavy clouds roll o'er the darkened sky, 
A thunderstorm breaks forth and from the high 
Shoot fiery sparks: the lightnings awful flash 
One hits the boat, which breaks up with a crash. 

Dead corpses and the debris of the boat 
Uipon the ocean's waves are seen to float. 
But what has been the fate of John? Did he 
Too, find his grave within the angry sea? 

He also was to his death mighty nigh. 
To save him, help came to him from the sky, 
And rescued him in a most wondrous way. 
So that he did not drown that awful day. ■ 



CHILDE JOHN 105 

A rising wave had caught him and it bore 
Him high and nigh to where the thick clouds soar, 
Inere, with a jump he on one of them lands 
And holds on to that cloud with both his hands. 

And he held on and did not let it go. 

He saw it drift towards the shore, and so 

He watched, when near to land, then in a whiff, 

He jumped upon the summit of a cliff. 

He firstly prayed to God, his thanks he gave 

For letting him escape a watery grave. 

That he bis treasure lost he did not care, 

His life was spared, the gold with ease he'll spare. 

And then upon that cliff he looked around, 
Naught else except a griffith bird-nest found. 
The bird just then its brood fed, he saw plain, 
And lightning like a thought flashed through his 

brain. 

Most cautiously and unseen, and not heard, 
He drew near and then jumped upon the bird. 
He boldly drove his spurs into her sides, 
As swiftly through the air he on her rides. 

The bird tried hard and tried with might and main 
To throw him. down and thus her freedom gain. 
But John sat there as if held by some screw, 
His hands holding her neck, and on they flew! 

And on they flew! God know,s o'er what strange 

lands. 
One day, just as the sun his first rays sends 
To earth, he saw just what was his desire: 
It illumined his own hamlet's ohurch spire. 

J 
God's bliss was his when he that church espied. 
To stop his tears of joy he vainly tried. 
Just then the bird, to John's greatest delight 
Descended for a rest from her .great flight. 



106 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Upon a hill-top he got off from her, 

The bird could hardly breathe, could hardly stir. 

He left her there in her exhausted state, 

And to his home, lost in deep thought, went straight. 

"I bring no wealth and poor as I did start 
I bring to thee my faithful, , loyal heart; 
But this suffices, sweet Helen, I trow 
Thou'lt welcome me lovingly anyhow." 

With thoughts like these he comes to his home near 
Loud cries and wagon rattling strikes his ear, 
The clang and bang and noise is general: 
The people hold their vintage-festival. 

He looked not at who to the vineyards went. 
He passed to all of them indifferent. 
And through the village he just walked to where 
He knew had lived Helen, his sweetheart fair. 

Upon the porch, he felt his hands to shake, 
He hardly dared a decent breath to take. 
He plucks up courage, entering, he sees 
All strangers where he thought his Helen is. 

John told her who he is. She breaks in though: 
The while his hand again the latch-string sought. 
A buxom woman, with kind sympathy 
Asks him: "Good man. whom do you wish to see?" 

John told her who he is. She breaks in though! 
'"O. bless my heart! the sun had tanned you so 
"I did not know you first. Come in! Come in! 
"I am surprised! Let's talk! But where begin?" 

"Come in! God bless you John! You've changed 

indeed" 
— Into the sitting room she does him lead, 
And when he in her cosy armchair sat, 
She said: "Now, let us have a friendly chat." 



CHILDE JOHN 107 

"Have you forgotten me? O, what a shame! 
I am the neighbor's little girl who came 

To see Helen so oft; do you know how" 

"The first thing tell me, where is Helen now" 

John breaks into her speech. The woman's eyes 
Are clouded -by the tears which in them rise, 
"Where is Helen? Oih, Dear!" — she slowly said: 
"Poor Uncle John, our sweet Helen is dead." 

'T was well he did not stand but sat secure, 
The dreadful newts it wiould have felled him sure. 
He would not do else but grasp at his heart, 
As if to crush the pain which made it smart. 

He sat awhile mute, stunned, lifeless it seemed 
And then he said, — he spoke as one who dreamed: 
"Tell me the truth, she is to some one wed. 
Let her be whosio's wife, but oh! not dead!" 

"I could at least once more see her! If so, 
Less painful then to bear my awful woe. 
The tears a-flowing from the woman's eyes 
Howe'er could not the dreadful truth disguise. 



XVIII. 

Johns head bends to the table from the blow ? 
The fountain spring of his tears freely flow, 
.What she then said,— his voice broken by woe- 
Sounds as spoke he to himself slow and low. 

"Why did I not fall midst the battle's strife? 
Wihy to the sea I did not yield my life? 
Why was I born at all? That cruel fate, 
With thunderous blows shall make it desolate?' 

Slow, by degrees his grief grows less severe. 
—As had he fallen asleep it would appear— 



108 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

"How did my sweetheart die? W'hat ailed my rose?" 
He gently asked, looked up and listened close 

To the young woman's tale. "List! Xo disease 
Killed her, but her stepmother's cruelties. 
The old witch though, paid for her meanness, she 
Died as a beggar in great misery. 

Your sweet Helen constantly called for you. 
"My dear John" was the last breath which she drew* 
"My darling John, 't is you alone I love, 
We shall united be in heaven above." 

Then to her endless sleep she closed her eyes. 
Not far from here the graveyard where she lies. 
All the village to her interment went, 
And at her grave tears of deep sorrow spent." 



The woman then escorted him to where 
Llis sweet Helen had been laid by, and there 
She left him with his grief. Heartbroken he 
Before that holy grave fell on his knee. , 

All mute, his thoughts roamed o'er the beauteous 

days 
When his were still the glowing, ardent rays 
Of Helen's eyes, the smile, the heart of her, 
Who how is bedded in that sepulchre. 

The setting sun paints the horizon red, 
The pale moon rises in the sky instead. 
And through the autumn mist a sad look gave 
On John, who reeling left his sweetheart's grave. 

But he returned. Above the grave there grew 
A tiny rosebmsh on wihich still a few 
Sweet roses he had seen. He plucked one .rose, 
And said to himself, when at last he goes: 



CHILDE JOHN 109 

"Sweet flowerlet wjho grew out from her dust, 
We two shall faithful comrades be, I trust. 
While o'er the world we roam, — Yo,u and my grief — 
Until my longed for death brings me relief." 



XIX. 

Childe John had two companions on the road: 
One was his grief — his poor heart's heavy load. — 
The other one 's tlhe good old sword he bore, 
Rust covers it, the stains of Turkish gore. 

O'er untrod paths he wandered with the twain, 
The moon changed oft and changed and changed 

again, 
The wintry earth fair springtime's garb assumed, 
He soliloquized thus, — by grief consumed: 

"Tell me, o, grief, thou everlasting woe: 
Willt thou to torment me e'er weary grow? 
If thou can'st kill me, then go, tantalize 
Some other soul which rather sighs then dies. 

I want to die, if thou bringest no death, 

I'll see to it my life eneountereth 

Real danger! Come adventure! Come real strife, 

I gladly yield to you my orphaned life." 

And saying this he casts his woes away, 
Though, here and there-, they still on his mind prey, 
— He had hardened his heart, — but still, a tear 
They often caused in his eyes to appear. 

And then, — his tears would even no more flow 
His dreary life 's a heavy burden though, 
He carries it with him into a wood 
Where in the road a heavy cart-load stood. 



HO ALEXAXDER PETOFI 

With earthenware was filled the heavy truck. 
Which to the linch pin in the mire got stuck. 
The potter whipped the horses: "Git up! go!" 
He yelled a-whipping them, 't was no use though. 

"God bless you. Sir. good day!" John to him said. 
The potter looks at him, from wroth all red. 
And angrily responds: "The devil, Sir, 
Is master here, my horses will not stir." 

"We are not in good humor I can see!" 
— "How can a fellow in goo>d humor be? 
Since morning I my horses urge to move, 
Xo use, they stick as if glued to this groove." 

"Ill help thee soon enough, but tell me please: 
Where leads the road, one to the right here sees?" 
John asked and showed a road which crossed 

the wood, 
A few feet to the right from where they stood, 

"That road there? Oh! Thou leave that road alone, 
No man wiho ever entered it it was known 
To have returned, and more I shall not tell, 
It leads to where a race of giants dwell." 

John said: "Leave that to me; now let us see 
How can this truck of thine I move for thee?" 
With that he caught the poleshaft and one! two! 
With ease, the truck to dry, high ground then drew. 

The potter looked amazed and gasped and stared. 
To witness strength like that had him all scared. 
Regaining calm, his thanks he wished to say. 
But John had struck that road, was far away. 

Tohn walked and walked and ere long he beheld 
The country's outskirts where the giants dwelled. 
A swifttly running brook 's the border line, 
— 'T was big e'en for a river, I opine. 



CHI'LDE JOHN 111 

A giant field-guard stood watching the brook. 
When John attempted in his eyes to look 
He had to raise his head as would he try 
To see the spire of a churc'h, way up high. 

When he, the giant guard, saw John come near, 
With thundrous voice, — the bellow of steer — 
He yelled: "1 see a man crawls in that grass, 
My soles just itch and if he tries to pass" 

I'll step on him"; and bringing down his foot 
To crush our John, Jotan took his sword and put 
It up so, that the giant stepped on it 
And pierced his foot and fell across the pit. 

"He fell just as I wanted him to fall" 
John, in his mind, said to himself; "the tall 
Mian's body serves me as a bridge" and o'er 
The body he crossed to tihe other shore. 

He was across before the giant stirred, 
Or ere a word or moan of his wa.s heard, 
Then with his sword he strikes a mighty blow, 
Oiff goes the head of the much dreaded foe. 

The field guard never rose and nevermore 
Stood at his post upon that streamlet's shore. 
An eclipse of the sun came to Shis eyes, 
The ligiht to see he nevermore shall rise. 

The streamlet's water flows and ceaseless flows, 
But of the giant's blood the color shows. 
And John? Did fortune come to him or woe? 
Wiithin a minute or two we shall know. 

XX. 

John marched ahead into tlhe forest's heart. 
The sights he met of which no counterpart 
He e'er throughout the wide, wide world had faced, 
Made him indeed to look at things amazed. 



112 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

There was— for instance— here and there a tree 
So high, the crown thereof John could not see, 
With leaves so big, that one was big enough 
To furnish for a grown man's cloak the stuff. 

And the mosquitoes grew here to a size, 
As if winged oxen flitted 'neath the skies, 
John had enough to do and without rest 
He minced the beasts with which that wood 

was blessed. 

And then the crows! Oh, my! Were they not big! 
He saw one sitting on a far-off twig, — 
At least two miles away as John allowed, — 
And yet, that crow looked like a big black cloud. 

He sauntered thus a-wondering, when lo! 
A something makes a deep darkness to grow. 
This something was a mighty big, black fort, 
The giant king's own favorite resort. 

I'll not exaggerate, the doors were great, 
As big as. — well — I can not even state, 
The doors must have been big, — you'll guess 

with ease, — 
A giant king can not through small doors squeeze 

Himself. John was amazed. He said: I see 
The outside here is grand, what then must be 
The inside, w T hich to view now is my plan." 
Not thinking of the dangers which he ran 

He oped the door. The king and his — God knows 
How many sons — just dined. Do jmdu suppose 
You know what was their meal? You'll never guess. 
Some mighty chunks of rocks had been their mess. 

When to the dining party John came near, 
He thought: "I do not think I shall dine here". 
The giant king — as if his thoughts had. read— 
Goodnaturedly? Maliciously? though said: 



CHILDE JOHN 113 



''As long as yon are here, come then and eat 
These rocks here are a good-enough square treat. 
If you refuse of our meal to partake 
Of you yourself our desert-dish will make. 

John did not know if what the king here spoke 
Was meant in earnest or was but a joke 
He stepped up and then promptly made reply: 
"I never ate such meal. I can't deny, 

But you having invited me, I'll try 

To be like one of you and gratify 

My hunger with the rocks. Now if you please 

Break off that rock for me a goodl}' - piece." 

The king broke off a piece. Five pounds it weighed 
At least, and gave to John. "Be not afraid" 
He said, "Of this small doughnut take a bite 
Next course 's a dumpling, — if yonr teeth are right**.. 

"'Tis I who'll make you bite! To bite the' dust! 
You'll nevermore on man stone-dinners thrust!" 
With that John raised the stone and at the king 
He let it fly, while loud his voice doth ring. 

The aim was good, the giant king is slain, 
To right and left is spattering his brain. 
John laughs aloud: "You will not entertain 
Your visitors at stone dinners again." 

The giants were heartbroken at the sight 
Of their king's death and in their sorry plight 
Began to weep, — mid sobs their loss bewail, 
Each tear-drop of theirs would have filled a pail. 

The oldest then addresesd our Childe John thus: 
Our Lord-King! We implore you pardon us, 
Our loyal serfdom we are offering, 
But spare our lives and we make you our King!" 



114 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

"We all assent to what our brother said, 
We are your vassals, you are our chosen head, 
Oh! do not punish us, we'll faithful be!" 
Such was the frightened giants' piteous plea. 

Said John: Tis well! Henceforth 1 am your king, 
To one, condition I however bring 
Your close attention. List! I can't remain 
Here with you. 1 leave one of you to reign 

Here in my place, I don't care who it is, 
But let distinctly understood be this: 
If I your services shall ever want 
You must all reach" be. 1 count upon 't." 

The oldest giant said then to the king: 
"We pledge our fealty! This little thing- 
Here take, a fife it is, its voice will call 
Most promptly to your aid us giants all." 

John put the fife into his bag, not e'en 
A-thirtking of the triumph which had been 
His share. Amidst "God bless you"s and 

"good byes" 
He wanders from the land of his allies." 



XXI. 



He does not know how long he walked ahead 
But he does know the longer he had sped 
His way, the darker it grew all around, 
Until he could not see at all, he found. 



"Did night set in? Did I my eyesight lose? 
What can it be?" John with himself would muse, 
It was not night, he did not lose his sight, 
But he had reached the 'land which knew no light. 



CHILDE JOHN 115 

The land of darkness, where no sun, no star 
Shines in the sky. Howe'er this does not bar 
John's progress. Carefully he step by step 
Goes forward. Now and then a whir and flap 

He hears o'erhead, such as by birdflight made. 
No cleaving wings the cause. That land of shade 
Had been the witches' home since God knows when! 
On broomsticks riding they come to their den. 

The witches were to hold a parliament, 
At midnight falleth due the great event. 
The dark land's capital contains their lair, 
Where they assemble now from everywhere. 

A deep cave is the witches' meeting place. 
Within the cave a big fire was ablaze. 
The opening of a door betrayed the light, 
To go towards it John thought is but right. 

Most carefully, on tiptoes he drew nigh, 
Peeped through a keyhole and tried to espy 
What's going on within that cave. He saw 
Things which a less brave man would fill with awe. 

Of mean old witches a great number's there. 
A curious concoction they prepare: 
A-boiling frogs, mice, rats and human bone, 
Snakes, tales of cats, grass 'neath the gallows grown. 

But who could tell it all what John had seen? 
It dawned at once on him: this devilish scene 
Must end. While in his mind the means he sought 
To do it with, there came to him a thought. 

He tried to take out from his bag the reed, 
With w'hich the giants to call he does now need. 
By chance he knocked his hands against a thing — 
What could it be? he was considering. 



116 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

He found it was a pile of brooms on which 
Had come a-riding through the air each witch. 
He grabbed the brooms and hid them far away, — 
A witch without her broom is lost for aye. 

Then to the cave came back and blew the reed. 
The call his giant vassals promptly heed. 
"Thank you my lads! Now break into this hole, 
Kill all you find in there, save not a soul!" 

There was a hoydido within that cave, 

The witches shriek and tried themselves to save. 

They seek their brooms, — by flight to reach the 

air- 
Without their brooms they knew death is their 

share. 

The giants did as they were bid, each man 
Got hold of one witch as for life she ran, 
With wrothful ire her to the ground does throw, 
Her corpse spreads out as spreads a baker's dough. 

A thing remarkable occured. Whene'er 
A witch was killed, the darkness of the air 
Would yield to light and with each deathly blow 
The day would bright and always brighter grow. 

The air with almost noonday's light was filled, 
The very last witch still was to be killed, — 
Our John in her that witch encountereth, 
The stepmother who drove his love to death. 

"Tis I" — cried John — "through whom her mean 

life ends!" 
And 'boldly takes her from a giants hands. 
She slips however from his hold and lo! 
She runs away; and though by no means slow, 

Her fight is vain. "Swift as the wind" — John cries — 
"Run after her and see that she too dies." 



CHILDE JOHN 117 

His word is law, she soon 's caught by f her hair, 
With mighty force is thrown high into air. 

And thus the old hag's dead body was found 
Near John's old home where it fell to the ground. 
As all men hated her without restraint 
Not e'en the crows would croak for her a plaint. 

The land of darkness changed to one of light, 

Bright sunshine followed everlasting night. 

A bonfire to be lit was caused by John 

And all the witches brooms were burned thereon. 

Then to his giant friends he bids good-bye, 
Appeals to them his hopes to justify; 
They promise him his orders to obey, 
And he and they then went upon their way. 



XXII. 

John roamed about, here, there and everywhere, 
He felt relieved e'en of his woe and care. 
Did he look at the rose pinned to his breast 
It did him not with painful thoughts molest. 

He bore that rose, he bore it near his heart. 
—Plucked from fair Helen's grave, it was a part 
Of her sweet self, — to look upon that rose, 
Brought to his mind sublimely sweet repose. 

He strolled and roamed. The sun which had 

shone bright, 
Was way down in the West, a beauteous sight 
Of scarlet twilight illumined the sky. — — 
The pale moon's yellow tinge appears on high. 

He strolled and roamed, — the moon too had 

declined. — 
At dead of night, exhausted, he reclined 



118 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

His 'head upon a mound, refreshing rest 

To find in good night's sleep his only quest. 

He fell asleep upon a grassy heap, 
Not knowing even, that where he does sleep 
A graveyard is, an old abandoned yard, 
The graves of which showed plain their 

struggling hard 

With father time! At ghastly midnight's call, 
From open graves — the mounds are yawning all, — 
Pale ghosts, clad in white sheets leap forth. The 

Earth, 
It seems, gave to these apparitions birth. 

To dance, to sing the crowd of ghosts began. 
The earth is tremibling 'neath their feet; that can 
However not disturb John in his sleep, 
In peaceful dreams he rests upon that heap. 

A passing ghost espies him lying there. 

"A man!" "A man alive!" yell fills the air. 

"Catch him!" "Carry him off!" "How does he dare 

To enter our own sacred churchyard square!" 

The ghosts drew near, encircle him, when lo! 
A call retounls! A cock was heard to crow. 
That sound gives notice to the ghosts, we know, 
That back, into their graves, they swift must go. 

John also woke up from the rooster's call. 
He rose, chilled to the bones; above the tall 
Grass of the graveyard blew a biting breeze, 
He's off; a brisk walk shall his chillness ease. 

XXIII. 

John walked along a mountain's , highest peak, 
The first rays, of the sun just touch his cheek. 
The beauteous sight caused him delight most keen, 
He stopped to view this truly pompous scene. 



. CHILDE JOHN 119 

The morning star was just about to fade, 
Its soft rays no more any light conveyed, 
It died away like an escaping sigh 
The moment when the sun rose in the sky, 

Rose in the sky ablaze with golden hues 
And gently the smooth ocean billows views, 
Which billows, so it seemed, were still asleep 
While into infinite space rolls their- sweep. 

The sea was calm, but on its surface sport 
Some tiny golden fish of divers sort. 
And when the sunrays touch their scales, it seems 
That rarest diamonds spend their lustrous gleams, 

A fisher's hut stood on the ocean shore, 
The fisherman was old, four score or more. 
The man was just about to cast his net 
When John addresses him: "Old man! My debt 

Of gratitude to you would boundless be, 
If you would kindly row me 'cross the sea. 
I'd gladly pay you, Sir, but I am poor, 
I can you but of heartfelt thanks assure." 

"My son, e'en were you rich, you could not pay," 
— The old man said in kindly, gentle way, — 
"Whate'er I need in life: this mighty sea, 
My fishing net, will e'er provide for me. 

Biut tell me, my dear boy, what brings you here? 

This is the sea of seas; — Ito make it clear: 

It has no other shore, you therefore see 

No wealth could make me row across the sea." 

"The sea of seas" cried John, "then all the more 
Desirous am to reach the other shore. 
I'll get across! But how? Oh, well! I know! 
Into my famous reed I'll have to blow." 



120 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

A shrill loud call he gives upon the reed. 
One of the giant lads gives promptly heed. 
"Can you wade o'er this sea? and if you can 
Then wade across with me right now, my man 

'"Can I wade o'er?" — The giant laughs in glee, 

"This is no sea, this is a pond for me. 

Sit on my shoulder, to my hair hold on, 

I'll safely wade across with you, King John!" 



XXJV. 



The giant carried John with mighty strides, 
With each step over many miles he rides. 
He carried him three weeks with awful speed, 
The other shore to reach though not succeed. 

One day, John in the mist of far away 
Perceives a something: "There is land!" with gay 
Good humor cries. "We are there in short while." 
The giant answers though " 'T is but an isle." 

"An isle?" asks John, "what isle? some details 

give." 
"It is the isle whereon the fairies live, 
Fair Fairyland! Beyond it is the end 
Of all the world and boundless naughts extend." 

"Wilt then, my faithful vassal, take me .there? 
I am eager to see that land so fair." 
"I can do that," his giant guide's reply 
"Your life though is in danger if you try 

To enter Fairyland. Terrific things 
The entrance guard and every step brings..." 
"Just take me there, never you mind my lot. 
We'll see if I can enter there or not." 



CHILDE JOHN 121 

Having thus told the giant to obey, 
His guide submits, has nothing, more to say. 
He bore him there and put him on the coast, 
Then starts for home and soon to sight is lost. ' 



XXV. 



The Fay's first door was guarded by the strength 
Of three wild beasts, with claws of half yard length. 
With some exertion, true, but John soon had 
The three great beasts before him lying dead. 

"For one day's work this is enough," John thought. 
Sat down upon a bench and some rest sought. 
"To night I take the rest I feel I need, 
To morrow to the next door I proceed." 

He did as he had thought that he would do. 
Next day 'he to the next door nearer drew. 
The work whic'h here awaited him 's more hard: 
Three fullgrown, fierce lions made here the guard. 

He rolled his sleeve up, drew his good old steel, 
And soon he made the three wild lions feel 
His wondrous strength; the fight was fierce, 

when o'er, 
The three wild beasts lay dead before that door. 

His conquest thrilled with eagerness his breast. 
Unlike of yesterday, he sought no rest, 
But wiping off the sweat which from him pours 
He steps up to the third one of the doors. 

Oh Lord! Forsake me not! The guard to fight 
— It makes one's blood congeal, the awful sight; — 
Here, is a dragon-serpent with a jaw 
So big, that six live oxen it could gnaw. 



122 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

John was not only brave, but we shall find, 
That he had brains, had a resourceful mind. 
He saw, his sword is here of no avail, 
"He sought a mode the monster to assail. 

The monster opened its jaw to pounce upon, 
To tear to pieces and to swallow John. 
What did he do? He's bound that beast to kill. 
Into its throat he jumpeth with a will. 

When once within the beast, he drew his knife, 
And stabs the monster's heart, that kills its life. 
The beast howls out a groan, a moaning breath — 
And then lies still when overcome by death. 

It took our John additional hard work 
To bore a hole through from within. His dirk 
Was strong and sharp, he crawleth out soon and 
Lo and behold! He enters Fairyland! 



XXVI. 

In fairyland the winter is not known. 
They live in everlasting springtide's zone; 
No sunrise and no sunset has the day 
Eternal dawn's soft scarlet hues at play. 

The fays and fairies in enduring jog 
Live lives which ills or death can not destroy. 
They need no food, theirs is a ceaseless bliss 
They only feed on love's inspiring kiss. 

The grief here never weeps, it might be though 
That joy makes now and then a tear to flow; 
And if such joyful tear drops to the earth 
It gives down there to a bright -diamond birth. 

Blonde fair}- maids a single yellow hair 

Of theirs draw right across the earth, and there 



CHILDE JOHN 123 

These hairs become veins of that precious gold 
Which greedy men as sources of joy hold. 

The fairy children weave from beams of eyes 
Of fairy maids the rainbows for the skies. 
When of sufficient length, then from their home 
Are taken to adorn fair heaven's dome. 

The fairies have a couch of rose and vine, 
Inebriate with joy thereon recline. 
The perfumed zephyrs which soothingly blow, 
Sweet slumbers bring to fairy fay and beau. 

The fairest scene which mortal ever dreams, 
Approaches not the splendor which here gleams. 
When man the first time kisses maiden sweet: 
Then in his dream he might like radiance greet. 



XXVII. 

When Childe John entered into fairyland, 
Amazed 'he looked on things sublimely grand. 
The roseate hues almost blind his eyes, 
He hardly dares to view this paradise. 

The fairies are not scared, they do not shun 
Him, but with childish glee they play and run 
Around; with gentle speech and pleasant smile 
They lead him to the centre of their isle. 

When John saw how here all with rapture beam, 
He woke up as had he been in a dream. 
Into his heart came a sense of despair: 
There came into his mind his Helen fair 

"Here in this land, — of love sublime the home, — 
I all alone, alone through life must roam? 
Wihere'er I look is cheer and glee and mirth, 
Is there for me no happiness on earth?" 



124 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

In fairyland's midst stood a pretty lake, 
John does himself to its fair shore betake. 
He took the rose which grew on Helen's grave 
And to this thought of his expression gave. 

"My only gem, part of her heart, sweet rose, 
What path to take, oh, do to me disclose!" 
With that he casts the rose into the lake 
To follow it was just a plunge to take: 

When lo! What wondrous sight fell to his eyes! 
He saw his Helen from the water rise. 
With insane joy into the lake he wades, 
His sweet Helen's coming ashore he aids. 

The lake contained life's elixir which gave 

New life to those who in its waters lave. 
From Helen's earthly dust had grown the rose, 
Helen herself to life renewed arose. 

Most eloquently I could tell you all, 
Exept the feelings which John's soul enthral 
When he his Helen held in fond embrace 
When he with burning lips could kiss her face! 

Upon her peerless beauty and her grace 
The faries all with admiration gaze, 
Not fairyland had e'er such beauty seen. 
The fays elect him king, make Helen queen! 

O'er those delightful folks in fairyland 

— 'With sweetheart's love caressed by "Helen's 

hand, 
His gracious majesty Childe John to day 
As their beloved king still holdeth sway. 



SIMPLE STEVE 125 



SIMPLE STEVE. 

(BOLOND ISTOK.) 
f A humorous epic. 

"He is coming, I see him well enough. 

A-coming up to me, that's what he tries, 
I hear him full of wrath, to scold and scoff, 

Ne'er in my life I saw such murderous eyes, 

How he the horses whips! To me 'tis plain 
He 's after me, he runs a mighty gait, 

Now even he has thrown to them the rein, 
They must drop dead to gallop at this rate. 

List' my dear man, can you not be, I say, 
A decent fellow and leave me alone! 

I tell you, Sir, you let me go my way 

And you can go well — where the devil 's 

known. 

Is not this prairie wide enough for two? 

There's surely elbow room for you and me. 
Whey should you then persist me to, pursue, 

The right is yours, the left for me leave free. 

If you insist that I respect shall show, 
Why, very well, I'll be a decent chap, 

If you allow me but my way to go: 

I'll promptly doff to you, dear Sir, my cap." 

Thus spoke the simple youth upon the road 
To the terrific torrent Which come down. 

The pouring rain howe'er no pity showed 
Bait rained as if it tried that youth to drown. 



126 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

And he, the simple youth, what did he do? 

The youth stood still, and musingly he stands 
As once great Caesar stood when Brutus drew 

The dagger which Caesar saw in his hands. 

Like Caesar he his cloak drew o'er his face... .. 

That is to say he would have done this thing 
If he had had a cloak, but in its place 

He wears a linen coat of last year's spring. 

Nevertheless, as would around his neck 
Two or three coats hang and a mackintosh: 

He stood, as stands the captain on his deck, 

And then, good-naturedly he says: "Well, bosh!" 

If you care not for what to you' I said, 
Then go to Jericho, we yet shall see 

Who will get weary first, just go ahead, 
I care not if you drench me with the sea. 

My God! my God! in all the world the best 

Of Christians I am, for surely none 
Had been baptized so soft, still I detest 

To feel this water down my back to run. 

Flow, torrent flow! I care not for the rain! 

Just now you try to wash a negro white, 
You might wash off each stitch of clothes, — that's 

plain, 

But my philosophy no rain can spite. 

Good humor is the cloak for man to wear, 

The tailor sewing it, — a Master he! 
And cheap?! Indeed it is cheap as air, 

To wear it though but few people we see." 

Thus mused the youth and slowly onward strolled, 
He laughed aloud as if it were a joke . 

The torrent, to revenge what 'he had told, 

Renewed the force wherewith the vouth to soak. 



SIMPLE STEVE" 127 

The youth howe'er all this with patience bore, 
Again stood still and simply stood serene. 

Thought to himself, as be had thought before, 
To kick would 'neath his dignity have geen. 



At last the angry clouds were forced to yield, 
All of them there disperse, clear is the sky; 

A splendid rainbow rose on heaven's field. 

Did our youth's happy mood rise in the sky? 

"Fair rainbow," — said the wanderer, — "my word, 
You are as multicolored as my past, 

Bright as the tail of Paradise's bird, 

My life as bright as that be 'henceforth cast. 

Fair rainbow, — triumph's arc — built in the sky, 

In honor of the victory o>f dawn, 
Which made the angry torrent fly and die 

And which the dark coluds into shreds had torn, 

Fair rainbow, thou art far away from me, 
But farther still the town I should to day 

Have reached. The day is nearly gone I see, 
And awful is the mud upon the way. 

Although no prophet I, nevertheless 

One thing I dare foretell and that is this: 

The girls in town will be in great distress, 
Because the chance to admire me they '11 miss. 

The dear girls know of course "how great my grief, 
I can not help it though, what can I do? 

If I had wings! That would be prompt relief" 
I'd fly as does that stork I yonder view. 

What is then to be done? To pass the night 
Here in the field, I promptly must decline, 

Drenched to the skin no man can find delight, 
To stay outdoors his health to undermine. 



128 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

I know, they call me Simple Steve, howe'er 
I am not such a fool as that. I see 

Not far from here a house. Well, I declare! 
Of course, to enter it, I'll make so free. 

Judged by the looks it is a robber's nest, 

A meeting place for cutthroats and for thieves. 

No fear of aught need have that kind of guest 
Who, like myself, his gold in goldmines leaves. 

Behold! The chimney smokes, from this I know: 
A fire ablaze the kitchen-stove must hold. 

'Ergo,' I may enjoy a hearth's warm glow, 
"Come, eat with us!" — I might be even told. 

Is it not happiness, — fa perfect bliss, — 

That I of logic am not ignorant, 
Or else this reasoning I'd surely miss, 

The praise of schools I shall forever chant." 

It is a dreary house he nad espied 

Down in the prairie's heart and where the night 
To spend his needs and reasoning decide, 

"Let's go!" He says, "I do myself invite." 

An awful sight, 

No ruin quite, 
Is it a living- being's room, 
Or a dilapitated tomb? 

Like weeping orphan children stand around 
Their mother's grave, thus can a few wild trees 

Around that godforsaken home be found. 

At one time it has been the masterpiece 

Of clever architects, it was no mean 
Structure by peasant built. The iron teeth 

Of time had gnawed on it, the things now seen 
The rotteness of long decay but breathe. 



SIMPLE STEVE 129 

The plastering is peeling off the wall, 

The window-blinds are loose, the wind's first blow 

Might cause each one of them to break and fall, 
No mending care did e'er they undergo. 

An old and lazy dog, lies at the door, 
Content to gnarl alike at friend or foe, 

That's all he does, he guards the house no more, 
Poor, toothless beast, relic of long ago. 

The servants' house is in the rear, there stands 

A hoary headed farmer's help, he'd work 
If he would work, — some tools are in his hands, — 
Yoke, nail and axe, to use them though he'll shirk. 

. All is so sad 

As the look at a hearse, 
As if it had 
. Been cursed by a curse. 

Our young friend thought as to the house came 

nigh : 

The Tartar's fell invasion 's not yet o'er, 
Not here at least, it seems, but what care I, 

E'en if Tamerlan's hordes here roar and soar. 

If Dzendis-Khan or any other Khan 
The master here, I enter all the same! 

I've got to sleep somewhere, I fear no man, 
Whate'er might be his station or his name! 

He entered bold, 

To behold 
A woman old. 

She stirred the fire with a big iron thong, 

Full of enthusiasm he began: 
''Good evening, Rose of mine so fair and young 

As my dear great-grandmother is, I can" 



130 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The worthy old dame though breaks in his speech: 
"You can do nothing here! just turn around 

-And go! And if you don't, well, then I will teach 
You manners and a thing or two! Confound! 

How dare you enter here? This is no inn, 

And at this hour of day," The youth 

howe'er 

.Proceeds: "Sweet heart! I am drenched to the skin, 
And late at night it is, else I'd not dare 

To enter here, therefore my dear old rose" — 

He could not end his say, she turned and yelled: 

"Get out, and get out quick, do you suppose 
I'll listen to your bold, unparallelled" — — — 

The youth howe'er stood still: "Who is the boss?" 
He asks, "he may grant me what you denied, 

I cannot talk with you, you are too cross, 
Let me the master see, let him decide." 

"1 am the master here, who asks for me?" 
In deep and solemn tones someone replies. 

The voice sounds as if from the depth of sea 
'T came from a bell which at its bottom lies. 

The old man's head is white, as white as snow 
And white the moustache and the flowing beard. 

The forehead 's high but richly furrowed though, 
A figure to be honored and revered. 

He stands erect, a cross built on the road, 

The winter's snow had wrapped it in pure white. 

Solemnity his very figure showed, 
And dignity his very eyes indite. 

As if he were a churchyard, thus he stood, 
Wherein many a dead had been laid by. 

That joy 's the oldest grave therein one could 
With ease with one glance at him verify. 



SIMPLE STEVE 131 

Lighthearted wantonness wherewith our youth - 
Had clad his soul, he promptly casts away, 

And modestly, as it behooves, — in truth 

Always well mannered 'he, — he turns to say: 

''Kind Sir! Forgive me pray, a wanderer I, 
Not frozen yet — true — tout I dont perspire, 

I am drenched to the skin, my clothes to dry 
Believe me, is just now my chief desire. 

And then, if of the kindness of your heart 
There still is left for me a tiny share, 

I'd ask of you, do not let me depart, 
Assign to me a place o'er night, somewhere." 

' 'Tis well!" he said, it was a short reply, 
The old man turned around and left him there. 

The answer though his spirit made rise high, 
More to expect just then he did not dare. 

Near to the hearth he finds a cosy seat, 
Contentedly he sits, enjoys his rest; 

A king upon a throne had not so sweet 

A rest as that with which the youth is blessed. 

''The world is mine" — thus ran his thoughts, — 

"I knew 

I shall secure a good home for the night, 
And looking at my case in proper view: 

A good square meal too shall be my delight." 

Such thoughts and thoughts like these went through 

his mind, 

A thousand funny things he thought that eve. 
Why should he not have day-dreams of this kind. 

Was he not known by name as "Simple Steve?" 

Whate'er has been and what he might expect 

He thought of then and there with mind awake, 
Did nothing 'but reflect and recollect 

And bold and high the flight his fancies take. 



132 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

Then to his thoughts he would expression give, 
The poor old dame to listen thereto bound; 

Not yet in ilfe, as long as she did live 

Had she heard man such funny things propound. 

He said enough to load three wagons full, — 
—Three big hay-rigs at that; — once in a while 

The things he said entered even the dull 

Mind of the dame and caused that she would 

smile. 

Ah! long ago it was that she smiled last. 

Her giggle sounds as when a rusty key 
Is moved in rusty lock wherein held fast, 

But happy she, it was easy to see. 

That not too long I draw the story out, 

Let me report. The greyhead came and said 

"Young man! Gome eat with me!" and then without 
Another word, sat at the table's head. 

The youth, when at the second time his plate 
He had piled up, felt that his mind ran thus: 

Mistress Methusalem indeed is great! 
Who thought she'd cook such fine supper for us! 

This is a royal feast, a pity though 

That we, enjoying it, sit mute and dumb. 

I'll entertain him with my speech, I owe 
This much to him, whate'er of it may come. 

"Kind Sir! my honored host: most excellent 
The things we eat, but all have one great fault. 

If you think it is not impertinent 

1*11 point it out: they all are lacking salt. 

No! Not that salt! I mean another kind 

Of salt which of our meals the choicest season: 

It is the pleasant speech, and you will find 
In what I told you there is solid reason. 



SIMPLE STEVE 133 

The very fish we ate, saw they how mute 

We sit around would mock and laugh in glee. 

Not a death-chamber this? To execute 

To morrow one of us, — not you, not me, — 

No hangman waits. Silence is half a death. 

I almost fear always silent to be. 
If you, dear Sir, howe'er want save your breath, 

To do myself the talking I'll agree. 

And I can talk on history and art, 

On agriculture and astronomy, 
Zoology and of the human heart, 

On heaven and hell and plain anatomy. 

Known is to me the North, South, West and East, 

In royal palaces I have dwelled, 
Have lived in beggar's hut and fast and feast 

To me, my fate in every form had dealt. 

Just tell me, Sir, whereof shall I now speak?" 
The grayhead's answer shows his heart how sore, 

He says, the while his eyes the distance seek: 
"For naught in life do I care any more!" 

"Please, my dear Sir," — the youth broke in — "say not 
These things, you sin against God if you do. 

Ah! fair and sweet is life He did allot 

To us, why then shall you His gifts forego?" 

"What? Life is sweet and fair?" the host replies 
And shakes his hoary head, "Not so, my boy; 

If it be sweet and fair 't is but the prize 
Of very few. l\ T o! No! Life is not joy! 

If you the burden of three score ten years — 
Of eighty years shall once bear in your heart, 

Which time not e'en a faded flower endears. 
Which years not one sweet memory impart, 



134 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

When life's tree 's about to fall and you 
Can't say that even once to its twig flew 

The bird of happiness, e'en once you knew 
It singing in its branches, on which grew 

The fruits of agony of soul and mind, 

Which hang on them as men on gallows hang: 

Wilt then, my boy, say, will you still it find 

That you were right when you life's praises sang? 

My youth saw winter's rage, 
Can you, for my old age, 
A spring's blossoms presage? 

Ah! Once I loved, an angel she had been, 

So fair and sweet and pure and born on high! 

Mud threw at her malignity most mean. 

On earth, — a dunghill, — she lay down to die. 

My spring of life having no flowers known, 
The ghosts of my despair I bravely dare, 

And full of hope await the fairer zone 

Of summer's sun and fruitful autumn's air. 

Both came, both passed, — what did they bring? If 1 
To tell it all now here would undertake: 

The tale would surely bring tears to your eye, 
Nay more, my boy, the tale your heart might 

break. 

The short contents of my long out drawn woe, 
Here are they, list: two children in the grave, 

One son is still alive, for this one though 
I weep no more, he is an outcast knave. 

I cast him off. Ten years I have not seen 

That son. Ten years the world 's a blank to me, 

Since then but one desire in me is keen: ' 
Within mv coffin laid to rest to be. 



SIMPLE STEVE 



135 



I settled my acccount with life, what more 
Wants it of me? Why then not let me pass? 

Life drank my heart's blood to the very core, 
Then why not throw away the empty glass? 



Life! cursed thou art! 

Life! be accursed! 

This poor slaves's" heart 

Thou hast immersed 

Into a sea 

Of agony! 

Life! I curse thee! 

All in this life is cursed. One only thing 
There is in life which I do not detest: 

The grave dug in the churchyard where they'll bring 
My coffin once! That hole, that grave be blessed! 

A bliss it surely is to turn to dust 

And to forget our sufferings since birth. 

There comes relief! Death brings relief I trust 
From what we suffer here, our life on earth." 



And now he stopped this man of many years, 
— Of many years of suffering, — then bowed 

His head. The youth could scarce keep back his 

tears, 
And only after pausing long allowed 

Himself to speak again: To me all woe 

Is sacred, doubly so is that of age. 
I do not want to hurt, — forgive me though, — 

If what I sajr does not your pains assuage . 

Kind host, 't is for your sin you must atone, 
The punishment met out then bravely bear, 

If this be great, your sin is also known 
As great and serious, it is: "despair." 



136 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Yes, Sir, it is a sin most serious. 

Because it is not more — not less 
Than blasphemy . dark and hideous. 

Despair 's the voice of hell. When wretchedness- 
Having lost faith in God, — cries out aloud 

To heaven: "There is no God within thy realm. 
When man has such most dreadful things avowed: 

Should not the wrath of God him overwhelm? 

Should not the hand of God heavily weigh 
On such a man? We have in Heaven 

A Father who protects us night and day. 
Whose care divine to all mankind is given. 

We must trust Him. we must patiently wait, — 
His children on this earth are numerous, — 

W r e must not think ourselves unfortunate 
If His "first blessings do not come to us. 

The law is this: wait for your turn and not 
In vain you'll wait. Just as around the sun 

Revolves each day the earth, thus shall your lot 
In life yet be: you have God's mercy won. 

And none He'll miss. Came not your turn to day 
'Tis sure to come the next. On this rely: 

Till man not happy made by God's own way, — 
Believe me, Sir, — till then he can not die. 

This happiness due to man comes never late. 

One drop thereof effects a wondrous feat: 
All former ills will promptly dissipate. 

A mighty sea of woes becometh sweet." 

Thus spoke the youth. The old man was all ear. 

He listened with the keenest interest. 
His mind takes in whatever it doth hear ■ 

As infants take the milk from mother's breast. 



SIMPLE STEVE 137 

And when the youth had stopped the old man said 
Amazed he was, that was easy to see, — 

"This wisdom, friend, who put it in your head? 
Who are you Sir? What is your name? Tell me." 



The youth, — he had been serious too long, 

And felt that he again should have some fun, — 

Good-naturedly replied: "I lived among 
Some old wise owls, from them I won 



All wisdom that is mine. As to my name, 
I am almost sorry that you inquire, 

I have no home, I don't know whence I came, 
And a migrating bird 's my great-grand-sire. 



I roam throughout the world, — (now here, now there, 
I only lift my hat to whom I please. 

Hungry to be, — that is my only care, 
I'm the happier the more I freeze 



Because my future happiness the more 
I shall appreciate. Not to deceive 

You as to my true name I one time bore, 
I will confess, I am called: "Simple Steve," 



Just now, my true name though I don't know yet. 

Next morning Simple Steve goes to his host, 
To pay with pleasant speech gratitude's debt. 

Said to himself: "Now, Steve, pay what ow'est. 



"Good bye old man, when at some future day 
Sweet happiness is yours: remember me, 

Who prophesied it. that on your life's way 
The sun shall brightly shine, and happy be!' 



138 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

The trembling hoary head claspeth his hand, 
A burning tear rolls o'er the furrowed face, 

"Farewell! young man, you woke in me 

and and 

From whom I well, I find no word of 

grace 

Farewell! But no! Let me say this to you: 

Why bid good bye? Why not remain with me? 

Stay here as long you care, we'll say adieu 

When wear}' you have grown my friend to be. 

Tell me again what 3 r ou said yesterday, 
Tell it to me an hundred times or more, 

To me it does a sweet message convey 

And helps my faith and confidence restore. 

You will remain with me! Say: yes! My friend." 
The youth replied: "Well, }^es, I shall remain! 

The matters standing thus, you may depend 
I'll see to it, that here good cheer shall reign. 

And if in speech like yesterday's you find 

Aught pleasure, well, my speech shall not run dry 

In hundred years" What's that? The noisy 

grind 
Of wagon wheels, loud calls and now a cry 

Are heard before the door. What is this noise? 

The old man calls: "No one must enter here!" 
But then there comes a maiden's silvery voice: 

"Not even I? Xot I, Grandfather dear?" 

The door ajar: 

We're made aware 

Of maiden fair, 

With beauty rare, 
Pale as a star, 

To have entered there. 



SIMPLE STEVE 139 

She falls upon the old man's breast, who knows 
Not what it means. With kisses covers she 

His face, wet from the tear that o'er it flows, 
Midst sobs and throbs she says: "You don't 

know me, 

Your grandchild I! Like to a cross I cling- 
To you, with hope and faith, with joy and grief, 

Grandfather dear, to you my life I bring, 
God grant it! that near you I find relief. 

Protect me, pray! To whom shall I appeal 
If not to you! O, that I had to run 

Away from him, that hatred I must feel 
For him who is my father, is your son. 

It is his home from which I ran away, 
• He tried to force me that I marry one 
Whom I detest. No heart has he to flay 

And kill my own! Pray, let it not be done! 

I sobbed and wept and cried, but all in vain. 
My tears fell on a statue hewed of stone. 

Do I, dear Sir, your sympathy not gain 
No fate than is as cruel as my own. 

I understand what means that look! Oh, dear! 

Reproach me not, that only now, when I 
In direst need, I thought of coming here, 

That I, — because I must, — to you now fly. 

Misjudge me not! An hundred times would I 
Have gladly come, but he commanded: "No!" 

He said: you loved no one, are shy and hie 
Yourself from us because you hate us so! 

Now I am here. Thank God, I am now here 
And nevermore shall I from here depart, 

Unless you should — unmoved ee'n by my tear, 
Refuse your help and thereby crush my heart!" 



140 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

What not the grayhead tried as a reply 
To say! One word, his feelings to express, 

While not enough — as much as he would try, 
He could not find. — IMute is his happiness. 

Heartrending sobs and burning tears alone 
Gave evidence that he was strangely moved, 

Ne'er in his life he probably had known 

To shed tears which as joyous tears had proved. 

Just like two rising, overflowing streams 
In one great inundation meet, thus met 

Within his mind scenes of his life: it seems 
His past and future were before him set. 

This flood of thought held him with iron grips. 

Though not his life. — he feard to lose his mind- 
Then broken phrases rise upon his lips, 

She hears him say. "For you sweet child I 

pined 

I have some one to love! — I feel my hair 

Is turning black, no longer white as snow, 

I saw her once before, that time howe'er 

In swaddling clothes. Oh! that was long ago! 

How big she is! And how she looks at me! 

Where are you. my young friend? draw to us near. 
Look at this maid, my sweet granddaughter she! 

Come my young friend and witness my good cheer. 

Give me your hand, my friend, but yesterday 
You said, — the sentiment was fine and high. — 

'Till man not happy made in God's own way, 
That until then. — you said. — man can not die. 

My grandchild comes to me with loving trust. 

And nevermore to leave me e'en agrees- 
Your father's aim I too say is unjust, 

His persecuting you must promptly cease. 



SIMPLE STEVE 141 

. I shall protect you child and will defend! 

You need not fear, you are now in my care!" 
Such is his speech almost without an end, 
And lovingly he pats the maiden fair. 

Again a noise is heard. A voice betrays: 
The father claims his daughter at the door, 

The old man opes the door and proudly says: 
"No, Sir, you can't come in here anymore. 

This is no home for sacrilegious man ' 
Like you, a sacrilegious, heartless soul. 

But no! Come! Enter here, come if you can, 
My corpse though must first from the threshold 

roll. 

Your daughter? She is here and here remains, 
She is no longer yours. Without remorse 

You would ruin her life beneath the chains 
Of loveless wedlock you would on her force. 

Once you abandoned me, your daughter now 

Abandones you. — Ideal justice this! 
To God and His eternal law I bow: 

The father and the son we now dismiss! 

I curse you not, nor do I blessings give, 
Just go and nevermore come to us nigh. 

Out of our lives! Live as you want to live, 
Let us not meet again beneath the sky!" 

The son, crushed by the father's wrothful ire, 
Dare not reply, silently sneaked away. 

The outstretched arm of his angry sire 

Showed him the road and forced him to obey. 

There stood the hoaryhead, majestic, .grand! 

A figure like a pillar formed of ice 
In far off northern climate's snowbound land. 

But as the son retreats, the father sighs. 



142 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

One deep, soulstirring sigh he heaves and sends 
After the son he now has lost fore'er. 

Then cool and calm, all is well he pretends 
And reenters the room all debonnair. 

Within the room a painful silence reigned, 

None of them dared or cared the silence break 

But finally, the youth his pluck regained 

And blurted out: "Tis time my leave to take. 

Yes, my dear Sir, I think there is no need 
That any longer I with you remain, 

There is now someone here, she will succeed 
Her dear, old grandfather to entertain. 

Wiith my good humor and my stout, good cane 
Let me again now go upon my way. 

Farewell! May happiness forever reign 

Within your heart old man, and yours fair May.' 

Then he would go. The host howe'er his hand 
Holds fast and gently, though to a degree 

Commanding voice he says: As I have planned 
Before between us two, so must it be. 

You stay right here, what was but a request 
Before, is now my one command. You saw 

My sorrows and my woe, now be my guest 
When love and happiness combine to thaw 

The ice from off my heart." "All right, I stay, 
And gladly stay, but one condition make;" — 

The youth replied. — "permit me to repay 
Your kindness by allowing me to take 

Charge of the farm and home. There being now 
A lady here; all must be trim and neat- 

I shall manage the things, yes, I know how. 
Leave it to me I earnestly entreat. 



SIMPLE STEVE 143 

This house looks now as if it were the lair 
Or den of bear or wolf, unfit for men, 

And less so as the home of lady fair, 
Just wait until I carry out my plan!" 

And with a will he started to the work. 

The servants were aroused, — though lazy they, — 
Still he, a-leading them, they dared not shirk 

The tasks assigned and dared not disobey. 

Brooms, rags and scrubbing and whitewashing 

brush, 

A-boiling water, soap and kalsomine, 
All were to good use put and in a rush 

The house's inside and its outside shine. 

And clean and in good order are all things, 
The ancient dirt and rust have disappeared. 

The change delightful satisfaction brings 
To all of them, to every one endeared 

Is Simple Steve, who did it all. He did 

What he had planned most thoroughly and well. 

During the evening host and lady bid 
Him of one of his funny stories tell. 

His was a master mind he seemed to know 

By intuition what to say or do, 
He knew that in the field sweet flowers grow 

Which girls will always with great pleasure view. 

And knowing this he goes each early morn 
Into the field and gathering sweet flowers 

Wove to a garland wherewith to adorn 
The window of that pretty maid of ours. 

When the girl arose, 
Each morning a rose 
Of sweet hue and scent 

Is lovingly sent ■ — 

By whom? Oh! she knows! 



144 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

Each morning a garland of flowers fair, 
During the day most entertaining speech; 

To sing his praise the host does never spare, 

The flowers and the praise the girl's heart reach. 

Thus are filled out, thus fly the hours and days, 
Yea, that the truth be known, the months e'en 

All unawares, the season but betrays: |pass 

It is almost a year he met the lass. 

There is no use to dilly-dally now, 

For, after all, the truth must e'er prevail. 

I am almost ashamed to tell it how 
It happened, — but it did, — a funny tale ■ 

It is, still a most natural event. 

Picked up his odds and ends and staff in hand 

Before his greyhead host quietly went 

To say something to him he long had planned. 

He never said what he had wished to say, 
As if he all at once had mute become, 

Stood silent, not by speech could he convey 
Why to his greyhead host he thus had come. 

His eyes, his face's red betrayd it though, 
The old man understood, — so did the maid 

At her grandfather's side, — that he to go 
Away from them had preparation made. 

The youth and maid 
Try to evade 
Each other's eye, 

In vain they try. 

They heave a sigh, 

And then they cry. 

The old man knew 

The wind that blew. 



SIMPLE STEVE 145 

From the back if his guest 

The knapsack removed, 
And the maiden thought best: 

Conditions improved 
If she took from him his cane, — 
This would then constrain 
The youth to remain. 

And e'er since then to dark corner consigned 
The knapsack and that staff of his we find. 
Our Simple Steve is not foolish enough 
To leave when things stood thus. Of better stuff 

Are made his mind and heart. Now that he felt 
To be with love regarded by the two, 

Respected by the host with whom he dwelt 
And not in vain for her love he would sue: 



Quick his decision came- "Yes! I shall stay." 

The autumn came, its winds blew o'er the heathy 

And although rare the flowers bright and gay 
They culled enough for a fine bridal-wreath. 



When from the church they came as man and wife 
The dear old man but said: "Thank God of High! 

Dear children be as happy in your life 
As I am now, and happy now I'll die!" 

"You must not die," — whispered the groom-elect, 
"Your great-grandchildren in the course of time 

To come will too your sweet blessings expect, 
Don't think of death, you are still in your prime!" 

Years come, years go and time ceaselessly flies, 
Who could the other cause more happiness 

Within that home, one with the other vies, 

Their hearts are filled with thoughtful tenderness 



146 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



And now, shall I or not describe a scene! 

One wintry eve, the earth covered with snow, 
The clouds chased by the winds, the night serene: 

Within the prairie in but one house glow 

Bright lights of burning lamps of which the flame 
Shines on most happy folks. The very light 

Trembles with joy so happy it became 

When it beheld that truly beauteous sight. 

Around, the hearth, on which a glowing fire 
Spreads cosy warmth, it sees a hoar}' head, 

A husband and a wife who do not tire 

To play with two fine boys, about to bed 

To be put by the mother, who a lullaby 

Xow sings to them 

The great-grandfather and 
'The father kiss the boys. 

Dark is the skj' 
Without, bleak winter reigns, cruel, severe! 

Within a spin-wheel 's whirled by mother's hand, 
The lullaby 's a song of love and cheer. 





CYPRESS LEAVES FROM THE 
GRAVE OF DEAR ETHEL. 



_ 



CYPRESS LEAVES 149 



I'LL TELL WHAT UNTIL NOW, 
(Elmondom mit eddig.) 



Til tell what until now 1 could 

A sacred secret keep, 
As hides the sea the precious pearl 

Within its mighty deep. 
My precious pearl, beauteous dove, 

Sweet maiden list' to me 
What I have felt, what were my woes, 

I'll now relate to thee. 

I deeply loved, my love though brought 

But misery for me, 
The more intense my passions grew 

More woe begone I'd be. 
My love, my grief, — twins were these two, 

The children of my fate, 
And all the time I loved thee, dear, 

I was unfortunate. 

My lips were sealed by cruel fate, 

I did not dare confess, 
Most eagerly I sought that none 

Should know my wretchedness. 
A burden it had been my mind's 

Condition to conceal. 
I often feared that crushing me 

It would the truth reveal. 

Just as the sunrays oft are hid 

By clouds, I also tried 
Thy picture sweet within my heart 

Most carefully to hide, 



150 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

A light wind though will dissipate 
The clouds upon the high, 

And all the brigther, warmer shines 
The sun then in the sky. 

That some one else I love I e'en 

To lie had deemed it best, 
The lie brought gruesome agonies 

To my sorrowful breast. 
The truth now has been told, sweetheart, 

About my love, my woe: 
Will thy reply sweet sympathy 

And consolation show? 

Who art my life's redeeming cross, 

My life's salvation! Speak! 
Hast thou for me no such reply 

Which I ardently seek? 
Of course thou hast it not, thy lips 

Have mute become for aye: 
Within thy coffin dead, I now 

Thy tombstone hore survey. 



WHAT WOULD I NOT HAVE DONE 

(Mit nem tettem volna erted.) 



What would I not have done for thee 
My prett} r , sweet, blonde maid! 

E'en to submit my true love's plea 
My cruel fate forbade. 

All that I was ever allowed 

For thee, love, to perform: 

Was this, I spread the funeral shroud 
Over thv lifeless form. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 151 

WHERE ART... 
<Hova lettel.) 



Where art thou who hast been the morning star, — 
Too soon extinguished though, — of all my hopes? 

I look for thee, but vain my efforts are, 

We meet? We don't? My mind in darkness gropes. 



When in the silent night the moon shall spread 
Her yellow rays all over earth, then I 

My ways wend to the city of the dead 
And consolation there to find shall trv. 



Wilt from thy' sleep aroused be by my call? 

Wilt then thou leave thy cool, deep couch below 
The earnest words of love to hear which all 

Mv heart and soul then utter in their woe? • : 



Will then my call arouse thee from thy sleep, 
Wilt then thou leave thy cool, deep couch below, 

To wipe away the burning tears I weep, 

The tears which but for thee beloved one, flow? 



Will then my call arouse thee from thy sleep, 
Wilt then thou leave thy cool, deep couch below? 

Will to thy spirit, rising from the deep. 

My burning kiss give of its warming glow? 



Or does no grave e'er ope again its door? 

And shall we but in heaven meet again? 
Or will no night, no heaven evermore 

'Bring us together? Are my hopes all vain! 



152 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

AH! HOW SADLY... 
(Jaj de bus ez a harangszo.) 



Ah! How sadly toll the bells! 

The death bell rings 
For a faded rose-tree twig 
Of fifteen springs. 

To the church the coffin 's borne, 

That church within 
Which we were to have wed when 
Thy love I'd win. 

Guardian angel of my love 

Up in the high: 
Pit}' me! Destroy me or 

Quench thou my sigh. 

Perhaps thou thyself art dead 

Killed by sorrow, 
For letting that dear rosebud fade 

And know no morrow ? 



CLOSE THAT COFFIN... 

(Zarjatck be mar azt a koporsot-) 



Close that coffin. Close it at last 
And to the cemetery take. 

Her lifeless form I viewed, — aghast. — 
Too long, yea long enough to mak 

Its memory to live fore'er 

Or heart and soul to shreds to tear. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 153 

IF WHILE ALIVE... 

(Ha ebren meg nem latogatsz.) 



If while alive thou could'st not come 

Even in dreams to me, 
Come thou, beloved dead. I have 

So much to say to thee. 

To be together to commie 

Chance vouchsafed us no aid, 

What each to each desired to say 
Our longing eyes betrayed. 

Dost recollect? When I would call 

Thou wouldst swiftly run. 
But softly, from a nearby room 

To spy at me thy fun. 

I was rejoiced when I saw thee 

So near and yet so far, 
That half-ope door appeared to me 
The heaven's gate ajar. 

When I left, thou wouldst from behind 

A curtain see me go, 
Thou thoughtst I know it not, but my 

Fond heart did always know. 

I saw thy burial. The grave... 

Wherein thy form must dwell... 
Ah me! that sight brought to my heart 

The agonies of hell. 

A thousand lightnings struck me when 
I heard the gruesome thud 

Of earth thrown on thy coffin's lid, 
It froze my brain and blood. 



154 ALEXANDER PETO.FI 

That coffin held my saintlj' dove. 

Wilt ever come to me? 
To hold thee near my heart, my arms 

Shall e'er wide open be. 

Beloved one come! and kissest thou 
Me with thy spirit breath: 

I follow be it heaven or hell 
My soul encountereth. 



I AM HERE... 
(En vagyok itt.) 



I am here, my consuming- bliss! 

The faithful pilgrim to thy tomb, 
I came to ask what didst thou dream 

This first night in thy grave's dark room? 

Oh! I had a most gruesome dream, 
The earth, chased by a wrathful sun 

Tried to escape the hot pursuit; 
Swift is the hunt, swift is the run. 

Xow down, now up, up to the stars! 

Xow forward into moundless space! 
All of the worlds, — upset, confused, — 

Onward to their destruction race. 

And still the sun pursues the earth, 

In vain! Xow as through space they fly, 

The sun pulls with his iron hand 
A dreadful comet from the sky 

And hurls it at the fleeing earth. 

It hit my heart. The pain it gave 
Though awful, still was naught to that 

I feel when I am near thv grave. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 155 

UP IN THE ZENITH... 
(Amott f onn . . . ) 



Up in the zenith of the sky 

A beauteous star shines bright, 

No other star up in the high 

Spreads such a lustrous light- 

"'Tis Ethel's star" — a voice doth say 
Methinks — "whose rays you view, 
Your earthly life then cast away, 
Arise! she waits for you!" 

With glad rejoicing I would rise 

To blessings unalloyed, 
Not worthy I of Paradise, 

My faith has been destroyed. 



ILL NOT DISTURB THY PEACE 
(Nem haboritom-e nyugalmad.) 



I'll not disturb thy peace, dear dead, 
My life's one treasure buried here. 

When with my sore heart's orphaned child- 
My pale-faced woe, — I shall appear 

Quite often here, my tears to shed. 

I will not come like tempest wild, 
Not come with noise or coarse display. 

I simply come to kiss this stone, — 
My tears e'en wipe this kiss away, — 

Then peacefully leave thee alone. 



156 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

FOR TWO LONG DAYS. 
(Lattam ket hosszu nap.) 



For two long days I gazed 

Upon her cold remains. 
Mute lips whose speech, closed eyes 

Whose sight her death enchains. 

Thy brow, an Eden bare 

I kissed: my solemn seal, 

My fiist and only kiss. 

And that thou did'st not feel. 

I kissed my altar which 

Thy death had wrecked, thy brow : 
It was so cold, my sonl 

Js thereto frozen now. 

And I then kissed thy pall, 

* Beyond which T can't see. 
Beyond which I can't step, 

Which bars my heaven to me. 

Around thy coffin saw 

The torches' light disperse, 

And saw how thou wert borne 
To thy tomb in a hearse. 

I had been there myself 

I heard the churchyard bell. 

The thuds, when clods of earth 
Upon thy coffin fell. 

All this, all this I know 

And yet it somehow seems, 

It can't be true, I ask, 

Is this one of my dreams? 



CYPRESS LEAVES 157 

Then I go to thy house 

To look around, but oh! 
I nevermore see there 

Thy eyes' heavenly glow- 

Nowhere and nevermore 
I'll look into that eye, 
Then to my home I go 

And heartrendingly cry. 



WHY DOST THOU LOOK INTO MY ROOM? 

(Miert tekintesz be szobamba r ) 



Why dost thou look into my room* 

Pale, prying moon? 
The world has changed with me of late 

Thou'lt see it soon. 

When formerly thy glances lost 

Their way to me: 
An all consuming love of life 

Thou could'st there see. 

A deadly war saw'st going on 

Twixt joy and pain, 
But thou could'st never note that woe 

Had my joy slain. 

But things have changed. Dost thou now look 

Into my face: 
Thou could'st thereon, as in a glass, 

Thy pallor trace. 

I'm cold and drear as is the place 

Which to me gave 
This mood: I have been weeping o'er 

•My sweetheart's grave. 



158 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

WHY MOCKEST NATURE...? 
(Termeszet, meg te is gunyolodol.) 



Fair nature, even thou dost mock? 

Since they have laid her here away 
Although midwinters season 's on 

Autumnal beauteous is the dav. 



The Danube's surface shows no ice. 

Saint Gellert mountain shows no snow... 
That to my body's and mind's eyes 

The contrasts more glaringly show. 



Why rise ye not to angry wars, 
Ye lazy elements why sleep? 

North wind — fierce eagle of the air, 
Why dost not o'er the country sweep? 



Why dost thou not the clouds pursue, 
And make their snow spread o'er the ground, 
As do the birds their feathers drop 
Whom the pursuing hunters wound. 



My keenest pleasure I would find 
If I fair nature could behold 

Changed as my heart: from Persia fair 
Into Siberia, icy, cold. 



Ah! if these mellow sunlit days 
Are none of nature's mockeries. 

But kindly, she the winter banned, 

My dead love out there should not freeze! 



CYPRESS LEAVES 159 

WHY SHOULD IT BE ODD? 
(Mi volna kiilonos azon...) 



It is not odd if now and then 
I'm seen to smile 'mong merry men, 
When list'ning to goodnatured fun? 
In cloudy sky still reigns the sun, 
And when his light shines bright on high, 
The clouds, — it seems, — 'heartbroken die- 



WHERE ART THOU... 
(Hoi vagy te, regi kedvem.) 



Where art thou wild and reckless boy, — 
My old good humor, cheer and joy? . 
Thy sister with her woefilled face, 
Did she crowd thee out from the place? 

My heart had been thy toy, thou played 
Therewith, and with the swiftness made 
By arrows shot into the air 
Thou and my heart went everywhere. 

Until we stumbled o'er a grave, — 
We felt, alas! we could not save- 

Ourselves. That toy, to thee confined 
— My heart — I broken left behind. 



160 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

SHE, THE DARLING LITTLE GIRL 
(6 a kedves draga kis lany.) 




The dearest little maid eyes e'er beheld 
And love of life within my heart had dwelled, 
Like ivy twines itself around the trees: 
So did fair hope all of my heartstrings seize. 



The maiden went away, They carried her 

To where she henceforth dwells,— her sepulchre, 
The doors of which shut on her earthly clay, 
To open only on great Judgment-day. 



With her, my love of life had also gone, 
Accompanied her to her grave and drawn 

By forceful ties remaineth with her still; 

Will nevermore the old dwelling place fill. 



This is the cause my heart 's now quiet, void... 

An empty, dreary house, almost destroyed, 

And through the ivy which around it grows, 
My plaintive sigh, like softest zephyr blows. 



There is none who would nurse it here below, 
It strives upwards — towards the heaven to grow. 
But Oh! Would it be that destructive doubt, 
Did not constantly cut each springing sprout. 



Who shall then henceforth dwell within my heart, 

Which almost into ruins falls apart? 

An old hermit might use it at his cell, 

His name is death, he'll come therein to dwell. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 161 

I STOOD BESIDE HER GRAVE... 
(Altam sirhalma mellett.) 



I stood beside her grave where she at rest... 
Exhausted, I my arms crossed o'er my breast. 

A statue like I stood beneath the sky. 
I looked upon a grave with tearful eye. 

The seaman stands upon the ocean's shore 
And glances o'er the waves which loudly roar. 

A beggar made of him the angry sea, 
He bows his head at fate's cruel decree. 



IT IS NOT TRUE... 
(Hazugsag, amit. . .) 



It is not true what I have often heard: 
That sorrows great have the power to kill, 

Or else, where thou, my sweetheart art interred, 
I too, with thee, dear maid, one grave would fill. 

Our sorrow 's not an ax which with a blow 
Doth fell the tree of life and ends its woe: 

It is a worm which gnaws — forever gnaws. 
And slow but sure the heart's last blood-drop 

draws. 



162 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

THOU WERT... 
(Te voltal.) 



Thou wert my rose, my one and only one, 

Thou didst fade and my life 's a dreary void; 
Thou wert my lone life's bright and warming sun, 

And when thou set: my life's light was destroyed. 
Thou wert the wings of my keen phantasies, 

Thy wing broke.. . and no more my fancy flies. 
Thou wert my heart-blood's heat, with thy decease 

My life .arrows cold as if submeroed in ice. 



IF BUT MY FRIENDS WOULD NOT, 
(Barataim, csak vigasztalassal. . .) 



If but my friends would not increase my grief, 
Try with condolences to bring relief. 

My only treasure now, — they ought to know, — 
Bequeathed by my love, — is this my woe. 

By. my poor heart this heirloom 's treasured high 
<The heart which is all void is doomed to die. 

Be it sweet joy, be it heartrending woe, 
; With one the heart must ever overflow.) 

This treasure I shall not spend nor exchange 
For all the bliss within the world's range. 
Within the secret workshop of my mind: 
Each part is for a beauteous song designed. 

Each song shall be a stone to build a home, 
High, into clouds to reach its mighty dome. 
This proud and beauteous structure be fore'er 
The pantheon of my dead sweetheart fair. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 163 

I HAVE WANDERED FAR AWAY, 
(Messze vandoroltam.) 



I've wandered far from thee, my dear, departed soul, 
But be I anywhere, sad recollections roll 
Back to thy grave, as if they found a deep, 

dark line 
Which from thy tomb runneth to where 

I might repine. 

I have returned to thee, I could not greet thee 

though 

With loving kiss, thou art within the grave below. 

Like weeping willow tree its crown: I bend my 

head, 
Not on thy soft breast but the hard head-stone 

instead. 

My fingers play, not with thy silken hair, the) 7 play 
With blade o'grass which sprung up from thy 

earthly clay. 
The whispers which I hear not from thy sweet 

lips rise, 
The gentle winds that blow bear but the 

graveyard's sighs. 

Thus I am lost in thought while on thy grave I gaze, 
And quieted and calm I think of bygone days. 
My mind is all at peace, the tempest of my woe 
Has run its course, has ceased many a day ago. 



A calm sea is the past, thy death has been the rock 
On which the barge of hope I steered, met with 

the shock 

, Which upset it. That rock now, in the distant blue 

Marks the horizon which with quiet heart I view. 



164 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

And it shall rise before my eyes fore'er and e'er! 

Thy picture, Ethel dear, within my heart I'll bear 
Until I die. Upon thy tomb the wreath must fade 
Within my heart e'er green thy memory, 

sweet maid! 



COME SPRING, COME 
(Jojj tavasz, jojj...) 



My thoughts, last autumn, were: come gentle spring, 

Because sweet happiness to me you'll bring. 

My sweetheart to some country-place shall move 
My calls on her she'll lovingly approve. 

Yes, is she'd be one hundred miles away, 

An hundred miles I would traverse each day. 
When early dawn is kissed by rising sun, 
When by the sun aroused, night has begun 

To spread its wings, and when the moon on high, — 

A sultan he, for whom the starry sky 
The harem is, calls on his fairy fays: 
Her faithful shadow then I'll be, always 

And e'er her footsteps following, until 

Her love, like springtide's flowers fair shall fill 
Her heart, and she with virgin-blushes' glow 
One of these flowers shall on me bestow! 

Why should she not pin roses to my breast? 

Does it not a bethrothal's kiss suggest? 

Come springtide come! Come with flowers replete, 
I'll need them for my sweetheart's bridal wreath. 



Come springtide come! Yield me thy flowers 

which bloom, 
I want to put a wreath upon her tomb. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 165 

TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS... 
(Hatalmas crvos az ido.) 



No better healer e'ver was known than time 

Which ever swiftly flies, 
Whate'er my sufferings are now, his art 

H.e'll promptly exercise: 
My woe which now 's a dark and stormfilled cloud, 

Shall soon calm moonray be 
Which spreads bright light over my memories' 

Unruffled, placid sea. 

The never tiring hands of fate might yet 

A garland weave, thereby 
My love of life and convalescent heart 

A-strength'ning vivify. 
It is conceived with ease how sad shall be 

The speech, the flowing tears, 
Wherewith the broken heart fore'er takes leave 

Of joyful hopes and cheers. 

It is for this that now when cold and bare 

And hopeless is my ibreast, 
It is for this that now I'm fond to go 

Where sweet Ethel 's at rest. 
Embrace, oh death, my weary life! How sweet 

It would be now to die, 
As sweet as for the little babe it is 

On mothers breast to lie. 

And when I die one sole and only wish 

I leave. I humbly crave 
That I be laid to my eternal sleep 

Close to my sweetheart's grave. 
Each midnight we to each other our dreams 

A-whispering convey. 
We'll rise together at the angel's call 

On resurrection-dav! 



166 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



A TINGE OF BLUE... 
(Keket mutatnak meg.) 



In far off wood do leaves of trees 
To have a tinge of blue still seem? 

When o'er it sweeps the stormy breeze, 
Is foamy still the Danube stream, 

As foams the fiery stud which flies 

When rider bold the whip applies? 

Doth still grow red the fair bride, — dawn, — 
When her groom, — the sun — makes his call? 

Sad widow's tears over the lawn, 

The night's dew drops, — do still they fall 

When as night heaven and earth enfolds, 

The stars — her orphans — she beholds? 

At one time my horizon knew 

Xo bounds and I could see it all. 

A tiny grave — my sweetheart's — grew — 
Methinks — into a mountain wall, 

W T hich now shuts from my purblind eye 

All of the world, the earth, the sky. 



DID I COMPLAIN? 
(Panaszkodam hat?) 



Did I complain, made I a piteous plea? 
With my complaint did heartsore I annoy 
My fellow men, as does the whining boy 

Whose fingers bleed! Shame and disgrace on me! 

And after all what was the use to weep? 

At hearts surcharged with woe, men never cease 
To mock or tender them their sympathies. 

Let them their jeers, their fellow feeling keep. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 167 

Could I have told in speech my woeful fate? 
Can it be told, what it is 'fore a grave 
To weep o'er her, to whom you truly gave 

Your life's best love, death can't annihilate? 



Howe'er I did complain. I did annoy 
My fellow men by talking of my woe, 
Permitted them to see my tears' fast flow, 

As if I had been but an o'ergrown boy. 



But henceforth I shall nevermore complain: 
Into an icy lake shall change my heart, 
Without a stream by which it might depart, 

But where unseen may live my endless pain. 



HOW SAD IS LIFE FOR ME.. 
(Beh szomoru az elet en nekem.) 



How sad is life for me e'er since the day 

My sweetheart to her grave has been consigned. 

I drag myself about, a withered spray 

Which blowing winds upon the highway find, 

And borne about more lifeless grow and dry 

Leaf after leaf they lose and then they die. 



A sense of woe will often o'er me creep 
And like a hungry beast, with brutal force 

Its sharp claws in my heart will bury deep. 
I curse aloud a fate which to the doors 

Of heaven will lead us men, but which, alas! 

Will not permit us o'er its threshold pass. 



168 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Most oft in silence I carry my grief. 

Am 1 alive or dead? I do not know- 

Friends speak to me, their speech gives no relief. 

To what they say I listen not, and though 
I used to be glad when they came. I own 
I am now happiest when left alone. 

I often roam about, without an aim 

I walk and walk, till I — 1 know not how 

To my beloved maid's sepulchre came, 

A sweet hope holds me fast there, I avow. 

This hope is: here my heart is rent in twain. 

O hope! O hope! Why is all hope in vain. 



WHEN SORELY SUFFERING. 
(Midon nagyon bant...) 



When sorely suffering in heart and mind, 

I promptly leave the town and world behind. 

And then my steps towards the graveyard wend, 

Where men are laid by to their dreamless end, 

But when it midnight strikes and when on high 

The pale moon wanders in the cloudy sky; 

The buried corpses interrupt their sleep, 

Come forth out of their gloomy, narrow deep, 

And clad in white they wander to and fro' 

Until the breaking of the dawn a crow 

Anounces loud; there to the graves I go 

When nights I am tormented by my woe. 

When, then, I. at the grave of Ethel dear 

Can freely weep and with the flowing tear 

My doleful soul plaintively sighs, relief 

And ease come then to mv heartrending grief... 



But then shall I of all sorrow be free 

W'hen at thy side thy grave I share with thee. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 169 

THE SNOW, THE FUNERAL PALL... 
(A ho, a holt fold teli szemfedoje.) 



The wintry pall of lifeless earth: the snow- 
Had fallen at the night. 
The churchyard's clad in white. 

The morning sun looks sadly down and though 
In shineth bright. 

Its rays, it seems, but with reluctance spread 

Over the barren realm of the dead. 

The snow within the churchyard does not melt, 

Around one only spot 

It disappeared, but not 
The sunrays makes it yield- For whom I felt 

Deeprooted, hot 
And passionate love, sweet Ethel 's buried here 
The snow yields to my freely flowing tear. 



IF IN HER LIFE.. 
(Ha eleteben. . .) 



If in her life I had not loved her well, 

This sweet, fair, curly-headed maiden here: 

I'd love her since my eyes upon her fell 
As she lay cold and lifeless on her bier. 

How beautiful was she! As if at morn 

A queenly swan upon her wings would stir, 

As pure snow would the wintry rose adorn: 
The white angel of death thus came to her. 



170 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

OUR HOARY EARTH.. 
(Jatszik oreg fbldiink.) 



Our hoary earth -is e'er at play 

With bright rays of the sun, 
A-cooing, wooing all the day, 

. And kissing while their course they run. 

On Danube river's shining face, 

On hill and vale, on window pane, 

On churchspires of the market place, 

Their burning kisses showeth plain. 

At dawn, at eve, e'er full of cheer, 
The sun is full of mirthful glee, 

As if the grave which riseth here, — 

My Ethel's tomb, — he would not see. 



WITHIN THIS ROOM... 
(E szobaban kiizkodott.) 



Within this room fought life and death 
For her and here she sighed the breath 

Which closed the fight. 

Eternal night 

Came to the maiden fair and bright. 

Within this room I freely shed 
A sea of tears for the dear dead. 

Why did this flow 

Not drown my woe, 

Did not my life end here below? 



CYPRESS LEAVES 171 

Within this room henceforth I'll dwell. 
The very walls sweet tortures spell: 

But happy 1! 

She's always nigh, 

I see her with my mental eye. 

Within this room, — for this I pray, — 
I want to live until that day 
When 'neath this sun 
My course I've run, 
And I my goal — my grave — have won. 



MY MOTHER, MY MOTHER... 
( Anyam, anyam . . . ) 



My mother, my mother, the best though the most 

Disconsolate mother that lives! 
Miser reality — the cruel master of hope, — 

To thee thereof no portion gives. 

Like Noah of old thou hast sent out thy doves 
Of hope to find thy yearning's goal, 

With realization's green twig in their bills 
No bird returned to cheer thy soul. 

Thy last, fondest hope: when once in thy grave 
Thou liest cold in dreamless sleep, 

Thy sorrowing son, some warmth will bring 

With the burning tears which be shall weep, 

Will not be realized. This consolation e'en 
Can not be thine! Forgive him pray! 

At his beloved sweetheart's grave, thy son 
All of his tears has wept awey. 






172 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

THE CLOCK STRUCK TWELVE 
(Tizenkettot iitott az ora...) 



The cluck struck twelve and from the stroke 

I from my slumber deep awoke. 
Within my dark room. I 
A white figure espy 
Soft gliding o'er the floor 
And from my awed heart's core 

There came a cry: "Thou'rt come sweetheart. 

Upon my tree of bliss thou art 

The fruit which too untimely fell 
Come to my arms and let me tell 

Thee my dear sweet fugitive dove: 
My lips await thy kiss of love." 

In accents soft and mild. 

Reply came from the child: 
"Wait, wait! first let me find 
My life! to be consigned 
Within the cold, dark tomb 
Is a most awful doom. 
It is so dark and drear 
I want life warm and clear- 
Pray then, give back to me 
My life, alone with thee. 
To live anew thou wilt me see!" 

Beloved one! I can not give 
What I have not, but if to live 
Anew, thou need'st a soul, my own 
I yield, 't is thine and thine alone!" 

I strove -to give it her, but night 

Had swallowed up the ghostly sight. 



CYPRESS LEAVES 173 

DO I IN VAIN... 
(Hiaba varlak hat...) 



Do I in vain must henceforth wait for thee, 
Sweet child, for whom my mournful tear 

I freely wept? Wilt thou no more appear? 

As heretofore thou used to come to me 

At midnight, bringing- me a moment's cheer? 

The night comes, midnight comes, but what care I? 
Thou cometh not with it, I see no more 
Thy gentle spirit entering my door, 

I cover up my weary, tearfilled eye 

With clipped wings of my hopes of days of yore. 

Where art thou? Why dost thou remain away 
Sweet beauteous maid whose loss I e'er bewail? 
Art 'fraid of me, because my face is pale? 

Fear not my face, I pined for thee alway, 
This caused its ghastly color to prevail. 

Oh! come again, once more rise from thy grave 
Who — though a shade — still art fairer than fair — 

To see thee once again, oh, how I crave! 

Shouldst tell me for my grief thou dost not care, 
Ah! dear one. to beseech I'll no more dare. 



MYSTERIOUS, ENCHANTING 
(Mi biivos, bajos hang...) 



Mysterious, enchanting sound! 

As if the vesper bell, which fills the air, 
The pious village folk would call 

Aloud, with solemn voice, to prayer. 



174 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

It is the sad sweet memory 

Of a sweet girl which rings within my soul, 
The maiden young and beautiful 

Over whose grave my tears incessant roll? 



DISCARDED LUTE.. 
(Fiigg mar a lant. . .) 



Discarded now it hangs upon the wall 
The lute, on which my grief I sang away 

For thee, sweetheart, who in thy funeral pall 
Within this grave imprisoned art for aye. 

There is the lute, discarded, on the wall, 
Brooding in silent woe. if e'er it sings 

It will not be the lute's harmonious call, 

It will be but the sound of snapping strings. 



ifiijl 



SELECTED LYRICS. 



SELECTED LYRICS 177 



AT HOME. 
(Hazamban.) 



Beautiful home, upon thy wide-spread plain 
Expands a waiving field of golden grain, 
Whereon the mirage plays, O, coutry dear, 
Knowest thou still thy son, now pining here? 

'Tis long ago since welcome rest I found 
Beneath the poplar trees I yet see round, 
While, through the autumn sky high overhead. 
Migrating cranes in V-shape southward sped. 

When on the threshold of our house, with tears,, 
Heartsore, I bade good-by to all my dears, 
And when dear mother's last and parting sigh 
On gentle zephyr's wings away did fly; 

Ah, many a line of years, since then begun, 
Their course completed, to their death have run, 
While on revolving, wheels of fate I passed 
Through various scenes in w'hich my lot was cast. 

The great world is the school of life, I trow, 
Through which I plodded with perspiring brow, 
Because the road I trod was hard and rough, 
And, from the start, I traversed wastes enough. 

I know — and none knows better than I well think- 
To whom experience held her hemlock drink, 
That rather I would drain the cup of death 
Than the black chalice w'hich she proffereth. 



178 ALEXANDER PETOEI 

But now despair and grief and bitter pain 
Which swelled my heart nigh rending it in twain, 
Are gone; their memory e'en is washed away 
By holy tears of joy 1 shed to-day. 

For here, where once 1 lay on mother's breast, 
Drank in her honej-ed love — to me the best — 
The sun shines smilingly from heaven's dome 
Again on thy true son, O fair, loved home! 



ON THE DANUBE. 
(A Dunan.) 



Tell me. old stream, how oft thy bosom strong 
Is cleft by storms and ships that glide along? 

How deep and wide these rifts! On heart of man 
Inflict such wounds no grief or passion can. 

Yet, when the s'hip is gone the storm is o'er, 
The stream rolls smoothly, showing rifts no more. 

But when the human heart is cleft, no calm 

Lan heal the wound or bring it aught of balm. 



A FUNNY STORY. 
(Furcsa tortenet.) 



[ ook out! Beware! 's the old man's friendly chaff, 
'Young man! Look out. watch o'er your better half, 
The woman 's young and beautiful, and hence. 
Beware! there is a nigger on the fence!" 



SELECTED LYRICS 179 

"Poor, dear, old man, I trust they are not true 
The stories which I hear, but take this cue: 
The people who within glass houses live, 
Must throw no stones, is the advice I give." 



"This is all nonsense, I tell thee my friend, 
Her days of skylarking are at an end!'' 

"E'en old goats lick the salt, 'is often heard, 
Well, no offence, the tale might be absurd." 



The older man the chance would often seize, 
The younger one with his warnings to tease. 

"The woman 's young and fair" would always be 
The lesson given in good natured glee. 



What happened next? The old man stayed away 
For many months from his young friend. One day 
The younger one made up his mind to see: 
What might of this strange thing the reason be! 



While on his way, he sought what to reply 
When his old friend again to tease should try, 

When 'he again should hear: "Look out! Beware! 

That better half of yours is young and fair," 



But lo! This time the old man did not tease, 
And left his friendly visitor in peace. 

Not only did not tease, but shook his head, 
And almost tearfully he slowly said: 



"Yes, you were right, my friend, to me to quote 

The old proverb of yours about the goat" 

Just then his wife's new babe began to cry, 
What could he do? He hums a lullaby! 



180 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

IN THE FOREST. 
(Vadonban.) 



Night's darkness o'er the forest creeps; 

Of a safe guide I am bereft; 
Which path leads from these lonely deeps? 
Is it the one to right or left? 

Far o'er me, on the arch of sky, 
Many a star doth brightly shine. 

Taking their course, who knows if I 

Alight reach the goal for which I pine? 

For, brighter than all stars above, 

In lustre shone my darling's eye; 
I trusted her; false was her love: 

Deceived, still o'er my loss I sigh! 



WHAT USE? 
(Mi haszna hogy a csoroszlya.) 



Of what avail to plough the earth 
Without the seed that brings to birth? 
Neglecting this but weeds will grow, 
And all your work for naught will go. 

Believe me. fairest, sweetest rose, 
Beneath thy glance my poor heart glows; 
And as the plough the ground upheaves 
Thy glance my heart in furrows leaves. 

Thy glance in vain cuts deep my heart 
But sorrow from its dephts will start; 
But if thou sow with love, then fair, . 
Sweet-scented roses blossom there. 



SELECTED LYRICS 131 

FROM AFAR. 
(Tavolbol.) 



A house stands by the "Danube far away, 
To me so fair, I think of it all day; 
The fond remembrance of that spot so dear, 
Will ever make my heart swell with a tear. 

Ah, had I never thence set forth; but man 
Is always moved by some ambitious plan, 
And falcon-wings grew to my heart's desire 
I left my home, my mother, and my sire. 

How great my mother's grief I cannot tell; 
When bidding her 'mid sobs and sighs, farewell, 
The pearly dew, that showered from her eyes, 
To quench her burning pains, did not suffice. 

Still do I feel her trembling arms' embrace; 
Still do I see her haggard, care-worn face. 
Oh, had I then my fate at all foreseen, 
Her dear entreaties vain had never been. 

Seen in the rays of hope's bright morning star, 
Our future days enchanted gardens are; 
Only to our delusion do we wake. 
When in the devious pathway of mistake- 

But why relate how hope's enticing ray, 
Though cheering me, misled me from my way? 
How, wandering o'er the bleak world's barren sod, 
My faltering feet on myriad thorn-spikes trod. 

Some friends have started toward my home to go; 
What of the truth shall I let mother know? 
Go to her, countrymen, if you come near 
The 'house wherein reside my parents clear. 

Pray, tell my blessed mother not to fret; 
Say that her son is now fair fortune's pet. 
For should, the loving soul the plain truth hear, 
Her tender heart, alas, would break, I fear! 



182 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

LONGING FOR DEATH. 
(Halalvagy.) 



Give me a coffin and a grave. 
And let the grave be deep and low; 

And bury with me all I feel. 

All passions strong, all thoughts of woe, 

O, mind and heart, twice cursed, e'er have 
You been the bane of my whole life! 

Why torture me with burning scourge? 
Why should not end now all this strife? 

Why should this feveris'h brain inspire 
To rise above the stars on high? 

When angry Fate hath it ordained 
That crawl upon the earth should I. 

Why have I not fair heavenly wings, 
If my aims soar to heaven's dome? 

To carry me into heights where 
Immortality is at home! 

And if to me this world is void 

Of joy, why have I, then, a breast? 

Created that of human joys 

It be the home, the shelt'ring nest! 

Or if there be a heart which flames 
And burns in passion's deep abyss, 

Why, then, this icy look on me. 
Thou God of happiness and bliss? 

Give me a coffin and grave, 

And let the grave be deep and low.; 

And bury with me all I feel, 

All passions strong, all thoughts of woe. 



SELECTED LYRICS 

WOLF ADVENTURE. 
(Farkaskaland.) 



183 



"Thou'st eaten, comrade; bloody are thy fangs, 
While we around here suffer hunger's pangs. 



"The howling tempest 'blows, while far and near, 
The land Hes waste; the winter is severe. 

"No trace can we espy of man or beast; 

Come! tell us quickly, now; where was the feast?" 

A pack of hungry wolves thus seek to learn, 
Where one — their fellow^ — did his prey discern. 

Without delay, the wolf that hath fared well 
Proceeds the following narrative to tell- 



"A shepherd and his wife a hut maintain, 
Which I sought out, down there in yonder plain. 

"Behind their hut, I knew there was a fold; 
Hearing the sheep bleat, I to sup made bold. 

"To this abode last night did softly hie 

Two stealthy wanderers — one young man and I. 

"He had a sweet tooth for the shepherd's wife. 
I, for the sheep, was bound to risk my life. 



"The lover sneaked around; T could not sup 
On mutton, so, instead. I ate him up!" 



184 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

I. 

(En.) 



The world is the garden of God. 

And man — the weed and flower from its sod — 

Is the crop. 
Within this garden I'm a tiny seed f 
But if it be God's will not to a weed 

Shall I grow up. 

Pure are the depths of this ambitious breast, 
A providence divine did it invest 

With holy flames, 
Which vestal fires on virtue's altar burn 
Within my stainless heart and ever turn 

To highest aims. 

I ask. no favors at the hand of fate, 
Whatever it may bring. I bravely wait 

For bad — for good. — — ■ 
Fate is capricious, what it gives to day, 
Without ado to morrow takes away, 

That's understood. 

Just as the lowland's plain where I was born 
As straight and even are my deeds, I scorn 

Duplicity- 
Plain is my speech and what I mean I say, 
To me, — from truth's pathway to go astray 

Is infamy. 

A precious tree, — Almighty God above 
Has planted in my heart of hearts: a love 

Miost passionate! 
And from its twigs and flowers and leaves I twine 
A wreath which I to thee, sweet home of mine, 

Now dedicate. 



SELECTED LYRICS 185 

LIVING DEATH. 
(Elo halott.) 



I do not feel glad when 

Fair, sunlit springtide comes, 

I feel not sad when all 

To winter's frost succumbs. 

As o'er an autumn eve 

Had come a mist all dense, 

Over my heart had come 
A cold indifference. 

I am all through with them: 
The foe. the friend, the mate, 

'Tis nobody I. love, 
'Tis nobody I hate- 

I have not a pleasure, 

No woe o'er which to weep, 
All sentiments, all aims, 
I've put them all to sleep. 

One only yearning is 
Awake within my breast: 

As soon as possible 

Within my grave to rest 



THE LAST CHARITY. 
(Az utolso alamizsna.) 



A single mother bore these two — 

The poet and the angry fate — 
And thus this life they journeyed through 
Sworn friends and ever intimate. 



186 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Trees then, as now, grew all around, 
And many rested in their shade; 

It served the minstrel, too, who found 
A branch, of which a staff he made. 

These were the only friends he knew — 
The beggar's staff, the angry fate. 
All else were faithless and untrue, 
But each of these was his true mate. 

But what had of his lute become? 

Do minstrels not possess a lyre? 
Aye — aye — he had one, too, not dumb, 

That gave forth strains to charm and fire. 

Once of his lute he grasped the string — 
Once in a stormy, thundering night — 

And mute became the thunder's ring 
To hear his song far up the height. 

And when the angry, murky sky 

Had listened to his song divine, 
It looked with smiling, starlit eye 
Down on the bard in calm benign. 

But, loj when hunger to him came 
He went the sons of men to greet, 

Thinking the hardest heart to tame 
With strains so marvellously sweet. 

That which had lulled the tempest's roar 
And made the dark sky smile again, 

In mighty chords he did outpour 
With mellow and melodious strain. 

But what th-e- storm and sky obeyed 

Fails utterly men to impress; 
And when his songs in vain he played 

The shamed lute breaks in pained distress. 



SELECTED LYRICS 187 

Such is the lyre's unhappy tale 

But of the bard's career who knows? 
None can tell when misfortune's gale 

Brought his long suffering to a close. 

. Before a younger race he stood. 
After the lapse of many years: 
The grizzled locks beneath, his hood 

Had scanty grown through cares and fears. 

"A few small pence for charity!" 

His piteous, faint voice then demands, 

While, like a sere twig, quiveringly 

He stretches forth his trembling hands. 

Then sympathetic voices ask: 

"Who art thou thus with grief bowed down, 
Whom fate hath set so hard a task 

And on. whom God doth seem to frown?" 

He pleads, again and tells his name: 
"A few pence," when, O, strange to hear! 
The answer comes. "Stop, child of fame, 
Thou dost not need to beg: good cheer!" 

"Thy name shines brightly as by night 
The starry heavens glow in fire, 
The songs men once despised, delight 
The world which now applauds thy lyre! 

"Hail to thee, great one; haste to change 
Thy rags and be in velvets dressed. 

A bounteous board we shall arrange, 
A laurel wreath on thee shall rest!" 

"I thank ye for this speech so fair, 
But hunger's pangs I feel no more; 

For velvet garb I have no care, 

But wear these rags which long I wore. 



188 ALEXANDER PET0F1 

"A goodly thing it is to see 

The laurel wreath a proud youth crown; 
But sprouts and leaves can no more be. 

When sapless trunks are crumbling down. 

"But still a few pence I require, 
And grateful for them I shall be; 

The coffin-maker waits his hire 
Who fits my final home for me!" 



INTO THE KITCHEN DOOR I STROLLED. 

(Befordultam a kcnyhaba.) 



Into the kitchen door I strolled. 
To light my pipe I then made bc-ld. 
That is to say, 'twould have been lit 
Had there not been full fire in it. 

And. since my pipe was lit, I went 
For something very different. 
Simply because a maiden fair 
By chance I had espied in there. 

It was her task the fire to light 
And sooth, she did the task aright; 
But, O. my heart! Her lovely eyes 
Were flaming in more brilliant wise. 

As I stepped in she looked at me 
Bewitchingh\ bewilderingly — 
My burning pipe went out, but. O! 
My sleeping heart burned all aglow. 



SELECTED LYRICS 189 

LOVE IS, LOVE IS A DARK PIT 

(A szerelem, a szerelem.) 



Love is — dove is but a dark pit, 
Suddenly I fell into it; 
And since into this pit I fell, 
It seems I live beneath a spell . 

I'm set to watch my father's sheep, 
I might as well be fast asleep. 
The herd now roams about at will, 
And tramples grain on vale and hill. 

With careful thought my mother filled 
My bag with food, I could have stilled 
My hunger, but my bag 'I lost; 
By fasting, now I pay the cost. 

Dear father and dear mother, pray, 
Forgive me if I don't obey. 
The while my heart with love's aglow, 
What I am doing I don't 'know. 



YOU CANNOT BID THE FLOWER. 
(A viragnak megtiltani nem lehet.) 



You cannot bid the flower not bloom; it thrives 
When, on mild zephyrs' wings, the spring arrives. 
A girl is spring, her love a scented flower, 
Which buds and blooms 'neath balmy air and 

shower. 



190 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

When first I saw thee, clear, I fell in love 
With thy fair soul the tender charm thereof, 
With that soul's beauty, which 1 ever see 
Reflected in thine eyes bewitchingly. 

The question rises sometimes in my breast — 
Shall 1, or others by thy love be blessed? 
These thoughts pursue each other in my mind, 
As sun-rays' clouds, when blows the autumn wind. 

Knew I another waited thy embrace, 
Could kiss the milk and roses of thy face, 
My broken heart I far away would bear. 
Or end in death the depth of my despair. 

Shine down on me, O star, so born to bless! 
And light the dreary night of my distress! 
O my heart's pearl! if thou can'st love me, love, 
And blessing shall be thine from God above. 



AT THE CROSS-ROAD 
(Keresztuton allok.) 



To the crossroad 1 have come, 
I would like to know: 

Is it East or is it West 
That I ought to go? 

It is all the same to me, 
Go I here or go I not 

Anywhere and everywhere 
Sorrow is my lot. 



SELECTED LYRICS 191 

If I could only know it where 

Death does for me wait: 
The road to choose which takes me there 

I would not hesitate. 



MY LITTLE FLUTE. 
(Kis furulyam.) 



My little flute from willow's twig I made, 
The weeping tree in lonely graveyard swayed. 
I carved it sitting on a graveyard stone, 
Are you amazed, that mournful is its tone? 

And there my own star set... no more its spark 
Shall gleam for me and henceforth all is dark. 
Is it then strange/ that sad my song's refrain? 
E'en my desire to live I can't sustain. 

And when, at eve, the herd strolls slowly home, 
I feel impelled to yonder grave to roam... 
And when the moon's pale face doth slowly rise, 
My flute sends forth heartrending songs and sighs. 

So long will sorrow hold me in its bane. 
So long will broken-hearted I remain: 
Until my soul, together with my sighs, 
Into a better world, heavenward flies. 

Heigh-ho! Heigh! with sorrows now away! 
For I my Violet shall see to-day! 
And even though I blush, I'll rest 
My head upon her virgin breast. 



192 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

I'D LIKE TO SAY... 
(Elmondanam.) 



I'd like to say: "Stop, pretty maid, 

My rose, my star! Do not depart! 

What God endowed me with I give 

To thee sweet girl: a feeling heart.'' 

I'd like to say: "My heart 's a sea, 
Rule it at will, remember though, 

Of precious gems the fairest one — 
Loyalty's pearl — is found below." 

I'd like to say: "This gem retains 
Fore'er its splendor marvelous. 

I'd say all this and more, but oh! 

There is no one I could speak to thus!' 



AT THE FUNERAL. 
(Temetesre szol az enek.) 



At the funeral sounds the dirge! 
Who goes now with dust to merge? 
No more an earth-bound captive he, 
Happier far than I can be! 

Here, beneath my window borne, 
How many over him do mourn! 
Why can I not buried be? 
No one then would weep for me! 



SELECTED LYRICS 193 

MOURNFUL IS THE DAY. 
(Bus az ido, bus. vagyok en magam is.) 



M'ournful is the daj^ and mournful I have grown, 
False are all the pretty maidens I .have known. 
They are as fickle in their love, 
As changeful as the clouds above. 
Lack-a-day. 

Dark and overcast my days are: I know why; 
For the maid I truly loved I vainly sigh. 
She now loves another lad, 
That's the reason I am sad. 
Lack-a-day. 

Truly orphaned, none so poor as I am now. 
Never to her ray true love can I avow. 
Not fore'er this will be so: 
Brighter days will dawn, I know. 
Lack-a-day. 



VOICES FROM EGER. 
(Egri hangok.) 



Snow on the earth, clouds in the sky! 

Who cares? Let it be so. 
None need to marvel, for this is 

The winter's daily show. 
And by my faith, I could not tell 

When winter came, 
Did not a glance into the street 

The fact proclaim. 



194 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

I sit here in this cheerful room 

With faithful friends around, 
Who fill my bowl with "egri" wine. 

Such as but here is found. 
The friends are true, the wines are good; 

Who would have more? 
I now enjoy such happy days 

As ne'er before. 



If my contentment had but seeds, 

I'd sow them o'er the snow; 
A rosy bovver then would bloom 

And in the winter grow. 
And if to heaven I then might cast 

Miy joyous heart. 
To all the world it, like the sun, 

Warmth would impart. 



From here the mountain I can see. 

Where Dobo once his name 
Inscribed with sword and Turkish blood 

Uipon the page of fame. 
Ah! until such man as he 

Again we see. 
Much water will the Danube bear 

Into the sea. 



Ah! long is withered now and dead 

The Magyar's blooming spring, 
And apathy inglorious 

Doth to the nation cling. 
Will ever spring again return 

Into our land? 
And will once more our plains and fields 

In growth expand? 



SELECTED LYRICS 195 

'Tis joyless thought; but seldom I 

Enjoy a feast so rare. 
So let us not our pleasure mar 

By memories fraught with care; 
And, after all, do sighs abate 

Or temper grief? 
The minstrel 'tis alone who finds 

In song relief. j 

Let us our country's cares not heed 

For this one day alone, 
And each sad thought of her let us 

Now, while we drink, postpone. 
Fill up once more! Another glass 

Of glowing wine 
And still one more to follow that 

None should decline. 

Well, well! What do I notice now? 

A cycle means each glass; 
My 'mind now in the future roams 

While I the present pass. 
And in this future I once more 

Again rejoice, 
For now throughout my fatherland 

Rings freedom's voice. 



THE MOONRAYS LAVE... 
(Fiirdik a holdvilag az eg tengereben.) 



The moonrays lave in th' ocean's mirrored sky 
Within a wood an outlaw heaves a sigh. 
The grass .around not so much dewdrop shows 
As from the eyes of that robber chief flows. 



196 • ALEXANDER PETOFI 

He leans upon an ax, with himself he 
Communes and says: "And this became of me! 
Sweet mother mine! Why did I not obey 
The teachings which you gave me day by day! 

I left your roof, I am a fugitive, 
With thieves and highway robbers I now live. 
Oh! What a shame! I am e'en now their chief, 
The unsuspecting travelers bring to grief. 

I'd leave this life and with my comrades break. 
Alas! too late for me this course to take. 
My mother 's dead... the old home desolate... 
And tumbling down,... for me the gallows wait." 



THE BEST LAID PLANS. 
(Fiistbe ment terv.) 



On going home, all of the way 
'I am in deep thought lost, 

And try to find sweet words wherewith 
My mother to accost. 

How I shall greet her when again 

In the arms am locked 
Of her, I had not seen for years, 

Who once my cradle rocked. 

And countless beauteous sentiments 

And speeches I prepare, 
The time stood -still it seemed, but lo! 

I reached home, ere aware. 

I stepped into her little room, 

- My mother flies to me: 
And mute I hang upon her lips, 
As fruits hang on a tree-. 



SELECTED LYRICS 197 

THROUGH THE VILLAGE. 

(A faluban utcahosszat.) 



Through the village, all the way, 
A gipsy band for me doth play; 
A flask oi wine 1 wave in glee, 
I dance in maddest revelry. 

"O gipsy, play thy saddest airs, 
That I may weep away my cares; 
But when her window we do reach, 
Play joyous tunes, I thee beseech. 

"The maid that lives there is my star, 
The star that shot from me afar; 
She left me, strives from me to hide, 
And blooms at other lovers' side. 

"This is her window. Gipsy play 
A tune which is surpassing gay! 
Let not the false maid hear or see 
That I can feel her falsity!" 



MY GRAVE. 
(Sirom.) 



When I am dead, above my grave 
No monument will stand 

To mark where lies my earthly dust 
I but a slab demand. 

But if in time to stone should turn 
My soul's unending woe: 

Then in sad truth my lowly grave 
A pyramid will grow. 



198 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

ON AN ASS THE SHEPHERD RIDES. 
(Megy a juhasz szamaron.) 



On an ass the shepherd rides, 
And his feet reach to the ground; 

Great his stature, but more great 
Is his sorrow so profound. 

On the sward his flute he played, 
With his browsing flock near by, 

When the sudden news is brought 
That his sweetheart soon must die. 

Quick he mounts his ass and rides, 
Hastens toward her home in fear; 

But, alas! too late he comes — 
Death has been before him here. 

What can the poor fellow do 
In his bitterness and woe, 

But upon his donkey's head 
Deal a heavy, sounding blow! 



THE ALFoLD. 
(Az Alfold.) 



Rugged Carpathians, what is to me 

The "wild romance of thy pine forests old? 

With admiration I can view thee e'er, 

But without love; nor does my fancy stray 

Aloft to thy fair mountain vales. But there 

-Below, in Alf old's sea-like region, there 

Is my own world, my home!- My eagle soul 

Springs from its prison bonds, when I behold 

The bound'ry of my plain. And so, in thought, 



SELECTED LYRICS 199 

Upward to thee I fly, amid thy clouds, 

When smiles upon me then, the image fair 

Of that dear plain, from Danube's waters spread 

Unto the Tisza's distant shore. Tinkle 

Beneath the sky of the mirage, the bells 

Of Kis-Kunsag's hundred fat herds, at noon; 

While by the well with the long windlass, waits 

The double trough, and galloping, the steed 

Snorts in the wind, and stamps the ground. The 

colts' 
Low whining, too, is heard, and of the lash 
The cruel sound. There waveth in the field, 
Unto the gentle breeze the green, sweet corn, 
Adorning with the emerald's glowing tint, 
So glorious, the place. The wild ducks come 
In the ev'ning's twilight, from the neighboring cane, 
Soaring affright, to an aerial path, 
If but a zephyr sways the reeds. Then there 
Far in the centre of the plain, lonely 
An inn is standing, with its chimney, old 
And crumbling, where the thirsty peasants come 
For goat's milk, as they journey to the fair. 
Near the inn is the dwarfed poplar wood, 
Yellow is the sand with melons rich; 
There where the screaming hawk her nest doth 

build, 
Where, undisturbed by children, she may rest. 
There grows the sad, sad ''orphan's hair" and 

blossoms 
Blue, of buckthorn, 'bout whose cooling stems 
The parti-colored lizards wind themselves 
To rest themselves in noonday heat. Beyond, 
Far, far away, where earth and heaven meet 
The summits, blue of fruit trees dimly rise, 
And farther still, like a misty column pale, 
The spire of some distant village church is seen. 
O, Alfold! fair, at least to me; for here 
Was rocked my cradle; here, too, I was born. 
Mlay here the dark pall wrap my slumbering form; 
In this dear land, I fain would find a grave. 



200 



ALEXANDER PETOF1 

THE EVENING. 
(Est.) 



The daylight wane?. 
And quiet reigns. 
'.Mid breezes driven, 
Cloudlets riven. 
The moonlight plays 
In varied rays, 
As ruins o'er 
Might fancy soar. 
The city wight 
Has no delight. 
Seek in the field 
What pleasures yield 
The eves. — All gay 
Two lovers stray, 
Sing on their way. 
Their song is heard 
By many a bird. 
From forest's shade 
To lad and maid 
Comes the mournful tale 

Of the nightingale 

From the garden borne 
The sound of horn, 
Where the herdsman tends 
His fire! It extends 
Far. far around 
And then the sound 
Of the horn's sad note, 
In the air doth float. 
While all around 
O'er the dewy ground 
And rich, green grass 
His herd doth pass. 
Then soft the gate 



SELECTED LYRICS 201 

Is opened, elate 
The herdsman heeds 
The sound, and speeds. 
Kiss follows kiss 
And all is bliss! 
Who went there, who? 
The lover true! 
How blessed ye two! 
All joyous be! 
But why of ye 
I cannot be? 



BRIGHT STAR. 
(Fenyes csillag.) 



Bright shining star, pray, tell me why 
Thou did'st not stay up in the sky? 

The reason I would like to know, 
Why from heaven thou sped below. 

"For one thing I fled from above: 
I looked upon thy sweetheart love, 

Her eyes shone brighter than did I, 
And angrily I left the sky." 



202 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

HAPPY NIGHT. 
(Boldog ejjel.) 



Happy 'night-time, I am with my darling rose 
In the garden to each other nestle close; 
Quiet's all; the dogs but bark somewhere, afar. 
Within the sky 
Like fairies hie, 
Bright moon and star. 

I would not a good star have become, I know, 
I'd be not content within the sky to glow. 
All the beauteous heaven is but naught for me. 
And from the height 
I'd come each night, 
Dear rose, to thee! 



HOW VAST THIS WORLD! 
(Ez a vilag a milyen nagy.) 



How vast this world in which we move, 
And thou, how small thou art, my dove! 
But if thou didst belong to me 
The world 1 would not take for thee. 

Thou art the sun, but I the night. 
Full of deep gloom, deprived of light. 
But should our hearts together meet, 
A glorious dawn my life would greet. 

Ah! look not on me; close thine eyesj 
My soul beneath thy glances dies; 
Yet. since thou can'st not love me, dear, 
Let my bereaved soul perish here. 



SELECTED LYRICS 203 

TWO BROTHERS. 
(Ket testver.) 



A comrade I possess of sterling worth, 
Honest and true he is from head to heel. 
When sorrow's chill and windy blasts I feel 

He will around me fold the cloak of mirth. 

If I, my country's fate considering, 

Am sad, depressed and almost moved to tears. 

My dear companion forthwith then appears, 
Saying, "Cheer up, this is no manly thing!" 

"Be patient now," he whispers, "rouse, dear friend, 
A better fate will come, and, once again, 
Will heaven's good graces and good will attain 

It yet will help our poor forsaken land." 

If hopeless love has made me sore at heart 
And resignation holds me grieved and dumb, 
My friend then tarries not, but soon doth come 

Saying: "Be of good cheer; a child thou art. 

"Loose not thy faith;" such is his soothing way — 
"Although is seems that she, on whom was spent 
Love's capital, is quite indifferent, 

She will all this with interest repay." 

This train of thought leads me to think, alas! 

That I so poor, so impecunious am; 

Again I hear the cheering epigram: 
"This hopeless state of things thou wilt see pass." 

"Be patient, friend; the time will soon arrive 
When thou cold rooms no more will occupy; 
And when frost's crystal flowers shall beautify 

Thy window-panes, and there on them shall thrive." 



204 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Thus flows my dear companion's cheering speech 
Till I forget my sorrow and my care; 
And all around me grow'eth bright and fair; 

My soul hath landed on a happy beach; 

This friend whom 1 am ever glad to meet, 
A haughty brother has, with laugh and sneer 
For my companion's way of giving cheer, 

Whom he delights most shamefully to beat. 

This brother is a stern and churlish man; 

He drives my friend away and smites his face. 

Yet can no usage ill his love efface; 
He will return again whene'er he can. 

And must 1 tell you who this friend may be, 
Whom to possess is now my happy lot? 
"Hope" is his name. Who knows .and loves him 

not? 

His sterner brother is "Realitv." 



ITS RAINING. 
(Esik, esik. esik.) 



It's raining, raining, raining! 

A kiss-shower it is, 
And my lips enjoy it, 

Each loving kiss a bliss. 

The torrent brings a vivid 
And shooting flash of light, 

The lightning shoots, the rays 
Of you'r two eyes so bright. 

I hear the thunder rolling, 
Rolls like a heavy gun; 

Good-bye, my darling girl; 
Thv mother comes — I run! 



SELECTED LYRICS 205 

DRUNK FOR THE COUNTRY'S SAKE. 
(Reszegseg a hazaert.) 



God bless you, boys! Come, drink again 
Let us this jovial glass fill high! 

Pray let me not my country see, 

Forsaken and in misery, 
Far rather drunk in dreams I'd lie. 

For then I dream that once again 
At home the voice of cheer I hear, 
It seems to me that with each round 
Of joyous drink I heal a wound 
Thou sufferest from, my country dear. 

If it could be while I lie here 
My country truly happy were— 

You never should, good friends, I say, 
Even if I might live for aye, 
-Behold me sober more, I swear! 



THE LEAF IS FALLING. 
(Hull a level...) 



The leaf is falling from the bough 
Darling sweetheart, I must go! 
Fare thee well, my sweet one, 
Fare thee well, my dear one, 
Pretty little dove! 



206 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

How yellow is the moon on high. 

Just as pale art thou and I. 
Fare thee well, my sweet one, 
Fare thee well, my dear one. 
Pretty little dove! 

The dew-drops fall on branches dry. 

Hot tears roll from thine and mine eye. 
Fare thee well, my sweet one, 
Fare thee well, my dear one. 
Pretty little dove! 

The rose may bloom yet on the tree, 
We two each other may yet see. 
Fare thee well, my sweet one. 
Fare thee well, my dear one. 
Prettv little dove! 



THE FOREST HOME. 
(Az erdei lak.) 



Just as the heart its primal secret holds, 
A cottage small the circling hills conceal; 

If raging tempests bear it down the vale, 

The frail and straw-thatched roof no harm doth 

feel. 

'Neath foliage dense of whispering forests cool, 
This straw-thatched roof doth nestle in the shade, 

While on the trees the piping bullfinch swings. 
The wild dove coos and sighs throughout the 

glade. 



SELECTED LYRICS 207 

And as hunted chamois, swift doth run 
A little brook down from the hills above; 

Like maidens coy, who in smooth water gaze, 
Fair flow ers bloom on either side thereof. 

Unto these flower-maidens gallants come; 

With ardent passion do the wild bees haste, 
Enjoy — yet in the stream how many fall, 

Intoxicated with the love they taste! 

The sun and zephyr pity as they see; 

The kind breeze bears a loose leaf from on high, 
And when the lover-bee has gained his raft, 

The sun with gracious ray his wings doth dry. 

The she -goat, over on the mountain's brow, 
With udder full and sportive kids goes round; 

From her and from the wild bees' golden store 
All that the cottage table needs is found. 



The piping bullfinch and the plaintive- dove, 
They fear no traps by any dweller there; 

Those who inhabit scenes like this, know well 
How sv r eet and glad is Liberty's pure air. 

Xo serfdom here; no tyranny there is 

To give command with harsh and thunderous 

word; 

Only, at times, the heaven's artillery loud. 
Reminding people to fear God, is heard. 

And God is good; He is not wroth for long; 

Since when the ominous clouds their ire have 

spent, 
He smiles forth in forgiveness once again 

In the arched rainbow where all hues are blent. 



208 ALEXANDER PETGFI 

THE GOOD OLD LANDLORD. 
(A jo dreg korcsmaros.) 



Here, in the lowland, where you travel far away, 
Before you reaeh the hills; here, on the Alfold's 

plain, 

Contented now I dwell, my heart is glad and gay, 
Because, while roaming round, I joy and pleasures 

gain. 

My home is in the quiet village public-house; 

But seldom sounds therein the noise of wild carouse. 

A hearty, good old man is landlord of the place. 

Grant unto him, 11134 God, the bliss of happy da}'s. 

My room is neat and clean, therefor I do not pay: 
Xe'er have I been as here, cared for so tenderly! 

My meals are timely served though others be away, 
But. if I should be late, they all will wait for me. 

One thing I do not like, the master of the house 

Quarels once in a while with his good-hearted 

spouse. 

But what of that? Soon kindness reillumes his face. 

Grant unto him, my God, the bliss of happy days. 

Somethimes, to pass the time, we former days -recall, 
Which were for him, by far, the happiest and the 

best. 

He owed his house and farm, had plentiful of all, 

He knew not e'en how many cattle Jie possessed. 

Knaves borrowed all his gold and fraudulently kept; 

The Danube's stormy floods once o'er his homestead 

swept, 
And thus they grew so poor, the landlord and his 

race. 
Grant unto him, my God, the bliss of happy days. 



SELECTED LYRICS 209 

For him the sun, of life is now about to set, 
And aged men may wish to have at last some rest. 

Alas, misfortune has, I notice with regret, 

Left him oppressed with care, with sorrow filled 

his breast; 

All day he works, the Sunday e'en is not his own; 

Late he retires te bed, and rises with the dawn. 

Filled with compassion, him I tenderly embrace. 

Grant unto him, my God, the bliss of happy days. 

I often beg of him to be of better cheer, 

Say better times will come, ending his misery; 

"Ay, ay, it will be so.*' he says "my end is near, 
And, when the grave receives me, I shall happy 

be." 

This answer fills my heart with sorrow and with 

grief; 

Falling upon his breast, I find in tears relief. 

My dear old father is the landlord of this place, 

Grant unto him, my God, the bliss of happy days. 



THE MAGYAR NOBLE. 
(A magyar nemes.) 



The sword which once my fathers bore, 
Hangs on the wall and gleams no more, 
Rust covers it instead of gore. 
I am a M'agyar noble. 

I never work and never will, 
The thought of labor makes me ill; 
Peasant, 'tis thou the earth must till. 
I am a Miagyar noble. 



210 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Peasant, make good the road, I say, 
Thy horse doth draw the load that way, 
But- go afoot I never may. 

1 am a Magyar noble. 

Wherefore should I for science care? 
The sages always paupers were. 
I never read or write — I swear! — 
I am a Magyar noble. 

One talent I possess complete, 
Wherein none can with me compete: 
That I right well can drink and eat. 
I am a Magyar noble. 

I never pay my tax when due; 
Wealth have I, but not much, 'tis true. 
What do I owe? I never knew. 
I am a Magyar noble. 

'The country's cares are naught to me; 
I heed not all its misery. 
Soon they will pass by fate's decree. 
I am a Magyar noble. 

My ancient rights and home decay, 
And when I've smoked my life away, 
Angels shall bear me up some da}'. 
I am a Magyar noble. 

— i o 

. FAIR MAIDEN OF A VILLAGE FAIR. 

(Szep videknek szepseges leanya.) 



Fair maiden of the village fair, 
How love I thy resplendent eyes! 

Resplendent? No; the phrase is weak, 
And all my warm intent belies. 



SELECTED LYRICS 211 

How often have I written, said: 
That I have seen a pure blue sky; 

Yet false it was, none such I saw 
Until I gazed into thine eye. 

Didst thou not mark my raptured gaze. 
With what devotion on thine eyes 

I hung, as on the crucifix, 

Enrapt, doth hang the saint that dies! 

And thou couldst my redeemer be 
In truth, yet have no need to die; 

My ardent breast thou wouldst embrace, 
Nor on a pulseless body lie. 

What folly is it that I say? 

Love I ne'er can have from thee! 
Where is the maid her love would give 

Unto a poet, poor, like me? 

For God hath made the poet poor; 

And this is fit, for, mark my words, 
No plumage, many hued and gray, 

Bedecks the sweetest singing birds. 

How can the simple poet, then, 
Expect a maiden's heart to gain? 

Maids justly love to shine down here; 
£.s stars of earth they wish to reign. 

Thou, little sweetheart, art my star 
And none can say me nay that I, 

Who may not wear thee on my breast, 
Shall yet pursue thee with 1113- eye. 

I with mine eyes shall follow thee; 

Through life I will pursue afar; 
And if from thence thou send'st no warmth 

At least look down on me, my star. 



212 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

BARGAIN. 
(Alku.) 



"Come, shepherd boy, poor shepherd boy, give ear, 
Behold this heavy purse with gold filled here; 
Thy poverty I'll purchase now from thee, 
If you, with it, thy love will give to me." 

"If but an earnest were this glittering gold, 
Thy proffer magnified an hundredfold — 
Nay, if the world on top thou shouldest lay — 
My pretty one thou could'st not take away!" 



MY LOVE. 
(Szaz alakba. . .) 



An hundred forms my love at times doth take, 
And in an hundred shapes appears to me; 

Sometime an isle around which billows break, 
The seas- — my passions that encircle thee. 

And then again, sweet love, thou art a shrine; 

So that I think my love luxuriant falls, 
Like leafy bowers, verdant and benign, 

Around the church's consecrated walls. 

Sometimes thou art a traveler, rich and great, 
And, like a brigand, on thee breaks my love; 

Again it meets -thee in a beggar's state 

And, suppliant, asks thee for the alms thereof. 



SELECTED LYRICS 213 

Or thou art as the high Carpathian hills, 
And I the thunderous cloud that shakes thy heart; 

Or thou the rosebush round whose fragrance thrills 
The nightingale, of which I play the part. 

Thus my love varies, but doth never cease; 

It still remains imperishable and sure; 
Its strength abides, but with a greater peace; 

Oft calm, and yet with depths that will endure. 



STREAMLET AND STREAM. 
(Forras es folyam.) 



The streamlet's waves roll on in gleeful ways; 
Their merry splash is as a silvery voice, 
In such a tuneful current did rejoice 

The mellow acccents of my youthful days. 

My soul was then a streamlet, pure and clear, 
A mirror of the laughing sky above; 
Sun, moon and star in this sky was my love; 

The lively fish, my joyous heart, leaped here. 

The streamlet has become a swollen stream 
Its whispers, silver clear, are heard no more; 
And o'er the storm is heard its mighty roar; 

And overcast is now the heaven's bright gleam. 

Bright sun, look not upon the stream just now; 

Thou wilt not see in it thy shining face; 

The struggles of the storm its waves displace; 
Upheave its waters from the depths below. 

What do the stains upon the waters mean — 
The bloody stain, shown by the angry sea? 
The wide world cast its anchor into thee; 

My blood — blood of my heart — is now here seen! 



214 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

MY FATHERLAND. 
(A hazarol.) 



The sun has set, but stars did not 
Shine brightly in the sky above. 

Nowhere a light, my midnight oil 
Burns and my patriotic love. 

The love of home's a beauteous star, 
In comely splendor does it shine. 

Poor fatherland, poor fatherland, 

But few of such bright stars are thine! 

~My oillamp's light is fluttering 

And flickers. Why quivers the flame? 

The midnight struck. Might not the ghosts 
Of my ancestors fan the same? 

Not to ancestors look, Magyar, 

They are like coursing suns on high. 

You must not look into the sun, 

The bright light but blindens your eye. 

Ye glorious forefathers ours! 

Whose rising once shook all the earth, 
On crumbling Europe's forehead, who 

Inscribed your own, your nation's worth! 

Yea, great were you, Magyar, one day, 
And lands and power you possessed; - 

In Magyar seas were lost the stars 
A-f ailing north and east and west! 

It is so long, that laurel wreaths, 
Dear Magyarland, adorned you, 

That fancy, — though a swift-winged eagle, — 
Grew weary ere so far back flew.. 



SELECTED LYRICS 



215 



That laurel wreath upon your crown 
Hath dried so long ago, it seems 

To be a legendary myth, 

Or has been seen but in our dreams. 

Since long I have not wept, but now 
My eyes are filled with tears anew. 

Tell me, my Magyarland, is this 

Your morning's dawn, your sunset's dew? 

My nation's glory, what were you? 

A shooting star, that shone on high, 
Then fell with sudden sweep and lost 

Forever is to human eye? 

Or, glory of the Magyar, are 

A comet you, which comes and goes, 

And which in future centuries 

Returns, the world to hold in throes? 



OH, JUDGE ME NOT. 
(Meg ne itelj. . .) 



O, judge me not, fair maid, I pray; 

Not from our first and sole salute; 
Not always is my tongue, as then 

So ill-behaved, so dumb and mute. 

Oft floweth from my lips a stream 
Of • cheerful speech, and often floats 

Humor or jesting o'er its waves, 
Like merry folks in pleasure boats. 



NEW YORK, 1 Y. 
LIBRARY 



216 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

But when L saw thee first I tried 

Some word to say, and tried in vain; 

Before a storm breaks out all round 
A graveyard quietude will reign. 

A storm came up here in my breast; 

I speechless stood, charmed by a spel 
The storm broke out, 'mid thunderings 

The lightnings of my wild love fell. 

How the tornado rends, destroys! 

But I shall suffer patiently. 
For when I once thy love shall gain 
. The rainbow of my soul I'll see. 



IF GOD. . 

(Ha az Isten. . .) 



If God Almighty thus" did speak to me: 

"Mly son, I grant permission unto thee 

To have thy Death as thou thyself shalt say;" 

Thus unto my Creator I would pray: 

''Let it be autumn, when the zephyrs sway 
The sere leaves wherewith mellow sunbeams play; 
And let me hear once more the sad, sweet song 
Of errant birds, that will be missed ere long. 

"And unperceived, as winter's chilling breath 
Wafting oe'r autumn bearing subtle Death 
Thus let Death come; most welcome will he be 
If I observe him when he's close to me. 



SELECTED LYRICS 217 

"Like to the birds, again I will outpour 

A mellower tune than e'er I sang before, 

A song which moves the heart, makes dim the eyes 

And mounts up swelling to the very skies. 

"And, as my swan song draweth to its end, 
My sweetheart fair and true may o'er me bend; 
Thus would I die, caressing her fair face, 
Kissing the one on earth who holds most grace. 

"But if the Lord this boom should disallow. 
^With spring of war let Him the land endow; 
When the rose-blooms that color earth again 
Are blood-red roses in the breasts of men. 

"May nightingales of war — the trumpets — thrill 
Men's souls, and with heroic passion fill; 
Mjay I be there, and where the bullets shower 
O, let my heart put forth a deadly flower. 

"Falling beneath the horse's iron heel, 
Here also may a kiss my pale lips seal; 
Thus would I die while I Thy kiss obtain. 
Liberty, who 'mid beavenly hosts dost reign!'' 



I'D BE A TREE.. 
(Fa lennek, ha. . .) 



I'd be a tree wert thou the blossom of a tree, 
If thou a dewdrop art, a flower I would be, 
'I'd be a dewdrop if the ray of sun thou art,... 
Our beings, thus united, would never, never part. 

Wert thou, my pretty little girl, the heaven on high 
I gladly would become a star within the sky. 
Wert thou, my pretty little girl, the devil in hell: 
Te be with thee for e'er, e'en there I'd gladly dwell. 



218 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

THE RUINS OF THE INN. 
(A csarda romjai.) 



Oh, beauteous, boundless strength of lowland plain, 

My glad heart's pleasure ground dost still remain, 

With hills and vales, the broken highland seems 

A volume that with pictured pages teems; 

But thou, where hill succeeds not hill, my plain 

Art like an open page, whereof I gain 

The knowledge at a glance, and over thee 

The loftiest thoughts are written legibly. 

'Tis sad; I cannot pass by happy chance 

My life upon the puszta's wide expanse. 

Here would I dwell amid these valleylands, 

As the free Bedouin on Arabian sands. 

Puszta, thou art the type of liberty; 

And, liberty, thou art as God to me! 

For thee, my Deity, alone I live, 

That once for thee my life-blood I may give; 

And, by my grave, when I for thee have died, 

My cursed life shall then be sanctified. 

But what is this, — grave, death, what do I write? 

But marvel not, for ruins meet my sight; 

Not ruins of a fort, but of an inn; 

Time asks not to what end the house hath been; 

A fortress, or a tavern, 'tis the same; 

He treads o'er both alike, and when he came, 

Walls tottered, crumbling, iron e'en as stone, 

And nothing, high or low, he leaves alone. 

Of stone how came they this old inn to rear, 
When all the lowland shows no quarn^ near? 
A town or hamlet, nestled here at first, 
Long ere the Turkish rule our land had cursed. 
Poor Hungary, my wretched land; ah me; 
How many yokes have been endured by thee! 



SELECTED LYRICS 219 

This ancient town was sacked by Osman's hordes, 

Who razed each house therein, exept the Lord's. 

The church remained, a ruin, it is true, 

Still of our loss a mourner left to view. 

For centuries it stood thus; stood to mourn; 

Until at last, by sorrow overborne, 

It fell, and, lest its stones should scattered be, 

They built the wayside inn which here you see, — 

From God's house build an inn! and wherefore nay? 

One serves the body, one the soul, I say! 

Each in our being has an equal share; 

On each we must attend with dutious care. 

From God's house build an inn, and wherefore nay? 

Our life can please our God in either way, 

And purer hearts within an inn I've known, 

Than some who daily kneel before God's throne. 

Inn, fallen inn, when yet within thy door 

The travellers rested and enjoyed thy store, 

My phantasy builds up thy wall anew, 

And one by one thy transient guests I view; 

The wandering journeyman with staff is here; 

The puszta's son in greasy cloack stands near, 

There, with his long beard, is a peddling Jew, 

The roving Slovak tinker, with a few 

Who drink; the smiling hostess, young and fair, 

Flirts with a merry student debonair; 

The wine has made his head a little light, 

His heart more loving to the hostess bright, 

The aged host! in rage w r hy starts he not? 

He calmly sleeps beside the stack, I wot! 

Then, 'neath the haystack's shade, now, in the tomb, 

Where, too, his fair young wife had long found room 

All have returned, long years since, dust to dust; 

The inn hath fallen a prey to age's rust. 

The wind the covering from its head did- tear; 

The roof, whereof dismantled, it stands bare, 

As though its master, time, it stood before, 

And prayed for better usage than of yore. 

In vain the suppliant prays, day after day; 

Crumbling, it falls, until one cannot say 



220 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Where was the doorway, or the window where; 

It was the dead's last hope before it fell: 

The cellar is a ruin: there is the well. 

Whose hoist, one day, some passing vagrant stole, 

Leaving behind the crossbeam and the pole, 

On which a royal eagle came to light, 

Because the puszta yields no loftier height; 

Behold his look and mien, so full of pride; 

His memories seem with ages gone to bide. 

The sun, that heavenly lover, flames above: 

He burns, because his heart is filled with iove 

For "Delibab" the puszta's fairy child. 

Whose fond eves gaze at him in vearnings wild. 



MY DREAMS. 
(Almaim.) 



Somtimes ill dreams will haunt my sleep. 

Like those which came to me last night: 
For hardly one had time to pass 

Before another did affright. 

Sin's heroes I in purple saw: 

On virtue crushed their feet did tread; — 
A ghastly footstool, red and white. 

Whose eyes shed tears, whose heart-veins bled. 

I saw gaunt faces, worn and serene. 

And yellow- as the moon at night: 
Each phantom face so ghastly seemed, 

Like to a wraithly weird moonlight. 



SELECTED LYRICS 221 

Around them joyous faces were, 

On which the sun of comfort shone; 

And yellow as each starveling face 
The golden spurs their heel had on. 

A man I saw upon his bier, 

A deep wound just above his heart! 

His own son killed him! And his wife- 
Does she now play the mourner's part? 

His wife! Ah, nay; she does not weep; 

While he lies near in dreamlessness, 
She, in a close, adjoining room, 

Receives her lover's fond caress! 

Then, as he lies within his tomb, 

His relatives — a hungry crowd — 
Come, and his >grave-vault open break 

And rob him of his funeral shroud! 

I saw forsaken, desert lands, 
Where public \irtue seemed as dead; 

Where night did reign, where dawn was near, 
On herdsmen's swords a sanguine red. 

I looked on fallen states enslaved, 

Where bondsmen's shrieks one could not hear; 
Because their plaints and groans were killed 

By tyrants' laughter in the ear. 

Such dreams, indeed, are nightly mine; — 

Small marvel that it should be so! 
For what in visions I divine 

The world doth, and the world will know! 

How long will this dread world endure? 

Why is that heavenly force so slow — 
Thou comet long ordained — this earth 

From its set axis to o'erthrow? 



222 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

CURSE AND BLESSING. 
(Atok es aldas.) 



Accursed the earth where once 

Grew into strength the tree, 
Of which the timber gave 

A cradle for poor me! 
Accursed be, too, the hand 

Which planted it, I say; 
Accursed also the nursing 

Dewdrops, the rain and ray. 

But blessed be the earth where grows 

•The tree in woodland shade, 
Of which my coffin will, 

In course of time, be made. 
And blessed be, too, the hand 

Which planted it; and blessed 
Also the rain and ray 

Which it with life invest. 



SWEET JOY. 
(Edes orom ittalak mar.) 



Sweet joy, I oft have drank of thee; 
What of the glass became, tell me? 
It broke, the goblet which I drained, 
And broken glass alone remained. 

And, bitter grief, I drank of thee; 
What of the goblet came to be? 
It cracked, the tumbler which I drained, 
And broken glass alone remained. 



SELECTED LYRICS 223 

The radiant sun the heart enjoys; 
The darkling storm-cloud but annoys; 
Grief is the heart's dark cloud, I say, 
Which rising winds bear far away, 

I like a shadow am; as though 
About a graveyard I do go, 
O, days departed, days gone by, 
Ye are the graveyard where I sigh! 

And through this graveyard in- the night 
A firefly is my guiding light; 
And o'er the graves of my dead days 
My memory like a firefly plays. 

The air with motion now is fraught; 
A cool, faint breeze is o'er me brought; 
And whisperingly it asks of me, 
Is it not better not to be? 



THE MANIAC. 
(Az oriilt.) 



Why bother me? Away! 
Be quickly off, I say!— 
Great work I have on hand just now, 
I twist a whip with' sweating brow, 
From rays of sun, with which I will 
Scourge the world till its anguish fill 
The air, and I will laugh as she 
Laughed, mocking at my misery. 
Ha, ha. ha! 



224 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

For such is life! We laugh and weep 
Till death brings its eternal sleep. 
I, too, was dead; some years ago 
To poison me were mean and low; 
Those of my friends who drank my wine, 
What did they do? Who can divine? 
While I was lying in the shroud. 
Embracing me, they cried aloud! 
I felt that I could rise and bite 
Their noses off, but just for spite 
I thought let them their nostrils keep; 
When I become a rotten heap 
And. decomposed, lie in their way. 
From smelling me explode they may! 
Ha, ha, ha! 

Where did they bury me? 
In Africa's sandy sea, 
This was most fortunate, for. lo! 
Hyena dug me from below; 
My only benefactor he. 
1 cheated him most skilfully; 
My limbs he tried to chew and gnaw; 
I flung my heart into his jaw. 
So bitter was my heart that he 
Soon died of it in agony. 
Ha, ha, ha! 

Alas! this always is the end 
Of those who other folk befriend! 
But what is man? Tell me, who can. 
Some say the root of flowers fair, 
Which bloom above in heaven there! 
Man is a flower, 'tis true, whose root 
Down into deepest hell doth shoot; 
I heard a sage discuss these things one day 
Who. being a fool, of hunger died, they say; 
Instead of cramming learning in his head 
Why did he not steal, rob and kill for bread? 
Ha, ha, ha! 



SELECTED LYRICS 225 

Why laugh I like a fool here, why? 
I should lament and loudly cry, 
The world's so bad that even the sky 
Will often weep that it gave birth 
To such foul creatures as the earth. 
But what becomes of heaven's tear? 
Falling upon this earth down here, 
Men tread upon it with their feet! 
— God's tear becomes — mud in the street. 
Ha, ha, ha! 

A hoary veteran is the sky, , 

The sun, and moon his medals signify, 
And thus the brave old soldier fares, 
The clouds, the threadbare cloak he wears, 
A cross and rag pay for his cares. 
Ha, ha, ha! 

What means the quail's call in man's tongue, 
When chattering in the morning young? 
He says of women to beware, 

She'll draw you sure into a snare. > s * l * 

Woman is a splendid creature, 
Beautiful, though dangerous; 

The lovelier in form and feature, " i 

The more of peril she brings us. 
A deadly drink she serves in cups of gold, 
Love's drink, to quaff I often did make bold. 
One drop of thee, O! what a heavenly treat! 
Yet from one drop such gall can be distilled 
As though the sea with poisonous drugs were filled! 
Have you seen ocean depths the tempests plough? 
They furrow it; death seeds are sown, I trow. 
Have you seen tempest, this brown ugly churl, 
His lightning flashes o'er the wide sea hurl ( ? 
Ha, ha, ha! 

The. fruit when ripe falls from the tree; 
Ripe earth, you must be plucked, I see. 
Until to-morrow I shall wait 



226 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Then, hoary earth, you'll expiate 
Your crimes! A great deep hole 
I'll dig in thee, and. on parole, 
I'll fill it up with powder dry 
And blow the earth up to the sky! 
Ha, ha, ha! 



I DO NOT WEEP 
(Nem sirok en.) 



1 do not weep, do not complain, 

To tell my sorrows I refrain. 

But if } r ou saw my haggard face 

What's writ on it with ease you'd trace, 

And in my purblind eyes you'd see 

The dreadful curse which weighs on me, 

The miserable life I lead; — 

An awful curse is my life's meed. 



WHAT IS THE END OF MAN? 
(Az ember ugyan hova lesz?) .. 



What is the end of man? 

Explain to me who can: 

Did old Socrates 

After his decease 

From poison go, — 

Ed like to know, — 

To the same place, where 

Had gone hi-s murderer? 

This can not be; and yet... and yet; 

Could we a glance of the hereafter get! 



SELECTED LYRICS 227 

WHAT IS GLORY? 
(Mi a dicsoseg?) 



What glory is? A splendid rainbow which on high 

appears, 
The rays of sun reflecting in the flow of human 

tears. 

■ — o ■ 

MAJESTIC NIGHT. 
(Fonseges ej.) 



Majestic night! 

How brightly shine, while wandering o'er the sky. 

The pale moon and the evening star on high! 

Majestic night! 

On meadow-grass the dew-drops brightly shine, 

In forest's shade a nightingale sings fine. 

Majestic night! 

The youth goes forth to meet the lovelorn maid... 

The robber chief goes forth to ply his trade... 

Majestic night! 

o • 

ARE THEY LOVERS?... 
(Szeretoje-e?. . .) 



Soul and body, are they lovers, 
I would like to know? 
Do they, as is fit for lovers 

Feel each other's woe? 
Or is the soul a so-called friend, 
Who honest friendship does pretend, 
'Until he finds the end is nigh, 
When he is off and let him die? 



228 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

MUTABILITY. 
(Mulandosag.) 



The king of all the kings is contsant change, 
The world js his great royal home and strange 

The things are which e'er follow in his wake, 

Where'er he goes, whatever course he'll take- 
Where'er he enters, — and that is everywhere, — 
O'er what he steps. — and naught in life he'll spare, — 

By foul decay is touched... Strewn o'er the 

ground 

Withered flowers and broken hearts are found. 



WE WERE IN THE GARDEN. 
(Kint a kertben voltunk.) 



We were in the garden, you and I, 
We sat close together. God on High 
Knows what happened 'round us, I do not, 
Was it spring or autumn? I forgot. 
One thing I remember very well: 
Close to yon I sat, bound by a spell. 

I looked into your dark, beauteous eye, 

And your snowhite hands squeezed, shy and sly. 

Looking at each other with intent, 

I asked, whether you would be content 

If, as we were sitting, all alone, 

God Almighty turned us into stone? 

"I would be!" You answered, in a breath. 
Did you, when you said that, long for death? 
Or, sweeet maid, the answer my ear caught, 
Was it caused by that sweet, blissful thought: 
We two petrified, would, — happy share! — 
Close together sit for e'er and e'er? 



SELECTED LYRICS 229 

POETIC FANCY 'T WAS. 
(Koltoi abrand volt...) 



Poetic fancy 't was what until now I felt, 

Poetic fancy 't was, not love, which thrilled my 

soul. 
My aching, bleeding heart, wherein these .fancies 

dwelt, 
No trace of any illness shows, is strong and whole. 
If love had been what caused my heart's great woe 
Not even fleeting time could prove a helpful 

friend 
Man's passion 's a wild stream and swift its torrents 

flow, 
Destruction carrying along and deathly end. 

'Tis only now I reached this wildly flowing stream, 

It carries me along in waves that rise and swell, 
The bellringers call out: the danger is supreme! 

The peril's nigh! Ring out aloud the alarmbell. 
The bells should toll! The folks might rush to save 

me yet. 

But no! My feverish heart itself 's an alarmbell: 
The maiden heard it toll, it caused her no regret, 

She having not, let no one else the tumult quell- 

Oh girl! oh girl! that thou should'st cause me 

such a woe 
I did not find set forth on fate's recording scroll. 
Did'st draw me on that thou could'st simply over- 
throw 
Poor me, or blind me with the splendor of thy 

soul? 
Thy soul -shines bright as shines the sun before his 

rays 
An eclipse caused to grow more pale, and as the 

sun 



230 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Will have grown cold when he, at last, has run his 

days, 
So is thy own breast cold thou cruel, heartless one! 

Thou said, and saying it thou didst not tremble 

e'en, 
Thou said, that never yet thou hast loved anj' one. 
Fearest thou not our God's revenge which is most 

keen 
Because his saintly goal of life "to love" thou 

darest shun? 
Or doest thou think no man is worth thy sentiment 
Of love, and to be told by thee: "thou art my 

own!" 
Or fearest thou that when thy heart its treasures 

spent, 
"They are forever lost" shall be thy plaintive moan. 

It may be true that disillusion be thy share, 

But therefore not to love no reason though. 
More worth than stagnant, lifeless peace that does 

not care, 

Are sufferings quick with life which from life's 

struggles flow. 
Will man not build a home because it might well be 

That at some future day a fire destroys his place? 
Shall therefore he the summer's heat bear patiently, 

And he submit to winter's icy arms' embrace? 



But more than once I saw thy lips ope for a sigh. 

'Tis easy then to know thou hast a heart which 

feels. 
But just as icy snow covers the Vulcan high, 

Thy brain 's a shield of ice which thy true heart 

conceals. 
Tell me, oh girl, 't is so and patiently I wait 

Until thyself shalt come to me and say: "I yield," 
Until the time shall come when we, in blissful state, 

With freely given burning kiss our love have sealed 



SELECTED LYRICS 231 

The time is long, each day I'll have to wait shall be 

Like all eternity to me. but I'll not fail. 
I'll feel as does the eager seaman out at sea 

Whose craft toward the shore is driven by the gale. 
The wind then turns and although he is near the 

shore, 

Nevertheless he cannot yet a safe port gain. 
While this eternal longing makes me sick and sore, 

For thee — my dear, — I'll deem 't is sweet to bear 

my pain. 

The body to whose wounds the sharp knife is 

applied 

Can no such pain feel as is felt by me just now. 
I'd suffer not to burning stake if I'd be tied 

As I do by the yearning longings I avow. 
One drop of balm, I pray, put on this burning pain, 

One tiny drop from hope's deep well apply sweet 

maid: 
That thou in time to come, be it in years, wilt deign 

My woes with the reward "may be" to have repaid. 

Oh no! do not encourage me with future's bliss, 

It is not alms I want! My soul's salvation give! 
What I said "I would wait" — as false thou must 

dismiss, 

My patience has long since become a fugitive, — 
And wild horse like it runs, my soul with it is borne, 

It runs on paths perilous to a high degree, 
Where by a wild beast into shreads it might be torn, 

Dost know this wild beast's name? It is — insanity! 

Give me, dear maid, give me back to myself, I pray, 
Give me back to the world, restore this life of 

mine. 
But no! keep me for sweet thyself, I wished to say, 
Thou can'st thus cast me off, fore'er my life is 

thine. 
Tell me: "come to my loving arms! Thou hast 

conquerred!" 



232 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



And at these mighty words, the heavens e'en 

might fall, 
Who cares? Can man a death more glorious have 

preferred 
Than 'neath this blissful weight feel death has 

ended all? 



And if thou lovest me not, thy love I ne'er should 

own, 
"Pis all the same, united is my soul with thee 
As are the leaf and twig. Ere winter's blasts have 

blown 
The leaves are sere and lifeless fall the}- from 

■ the tree; 
This is our fate, e'en to the grave- Go far away. 

Shun me, — 't is all in vain, beyond all thy control. 

A dark form which ne'er leaveth me. be night or da}', 

Thy shadow 't is? Oh, no! It is my doleful soul. 



I DREAM OF GORY DAYS. 
(Veres napokrol almodom.) 



I dream of dread and gory days. 

Which come this world to chaos casting. 
While o'er its ruining works and ways 

The new world rises everlasting. 



Could I but hear, could I but hear 

The trumpet's blare to carnage calling! 

I scarce can wait till on my ear 
The summons sounds, to some appalling. 



SELECTED LYRICS 233 

Then to the saddle quick I'd spring, 
My mettled steed with joy bestriding,, 

And haste to join the noble ring 
Of heroes, who to fight are riding. 

And should a spear-thrust pierce my breast, 
There will be One — a fair thought this is — 

By whom my wound will then be dressed, 
My pain assuaged by balmy kisses. 

If taken captive I should be, 

This One, my dungeon's gloom adorning, 
Will surely come to visit me, 

In radiance like the star of morning. 

And should I die, and should I die 
On scaffold or 'mid cannons' rattle, 

This One with tears will then be nigh 
To wash away the blood of battle. 



BRIGHT-BLUE THE NIGHT. 
(Vilagos kek a csillagos ejszaka.) 



Bright-blue the night, stars gleam on high- 
While from the open window I 
The heaven view with wistful eyes: 
My soul to my beloved-one flies. 

Bright, starry sky and sweetheart maid, 
No fairer things our Lord-God made; 
At least I, who the world well know, 
Can truly say I find it so. 

The waning moon sinks to the west, 
Behind yon mountain to find rest. 
My own woe like she groweth pale, 
Until to note it e'en I fail. 



234 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



Within the sky the Pleiads glow, 
Some roosters in the distance crow. 
It dawns, a sharp fresh wind arose, 
It coolingiy around me blows. 

Shall I my window leave, lie down? 
Let golden dreams my sleep now crown? 
Oh, no! -not e'en the fairest dream, 
Makes life so sweet it now doth seem. 



ONE THOUGHT TORMENTS ME. 
(Egy gondolat bant engemet.) 



One thought torments me sore, lest I 

Upon a pillowed couch should die — 

Should slowly fade like fair, frail flower 

Whose heart the gnawing worms devour; 

Or, like the light in some void room, 

Should faintly flicker into gloom. 

Let no such ending come to me, 

O God! but rather let me be 

A tree, through which the lightning shoots, 

Or which the strenuous storm uproots; 

Or like the rock from hill out-torn 

And thundering, to the valley borne! 

When every nation wearing chains 

Shall rise and seek the battle plains, 

W T ith flushing face shall wave in fight 

.Their banners blazoned in the light! 

''For liberty!" 

Their cry shall be — 

Their cry from east to west, 

Till tyrants be suppressed. 

There shall I gladly yield 

My life upon the field. 



SELECTED LYRICS 235 

There shall my heart's last blood flow out, 

And I my latest cry shall shout. 

May it be drowned in clash of steel, 

In trumpets' and in cannons' peal; 

And o'er my corpse 

Let tread the horse, 

Which gallops home from victory's gain 

And leaves me trodden 'mid the slain. 

My scattered bones shall be interred 

Where all the dead are sepulchred — 

When, amid slow funereal strains, 

Banners shall wave o'er the remains 

Of heroes who have died for thee, 

O, world-delivering Liberty! 



THE ROSEBUSH TREMBLES. 
(Reszket a bokor.) 



The rosebush trembled when 

A bird on its twig flew; 
My own soul trembles when 

I think, my dear, of you, 
I think, my dear, of you, 

My darling, charming maid. 
Thou art the richest gem 

My God has ever made. 

When swollen is the Danube, 

Then it doth overflow; 
My heart, with love replete, 

Doth now for thee just so. 
Tell me, my dearest rose, 

Art thou to me still true? 
Not even thy parents, dear, 

Can love thee as I do. 



236 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

I know thy love was mine 

'Neath last year's summer sun; 
But winter came since then — 

Who knows what he has done? 
Shouldst thou love me no more, 

I pray God bless thee still; 
But, if thou lov'st me. then, 

A thousandfold he will. 



MY SONGS. 
(Dalaim.) 



Oft am I sunk in deepest thought, 
Although my musings bring me naught, 
My thoughts o'er all the country fly, 
Flit o'er the earth, soar to the sky, 
The songs which from my lips then roll 
Are moon-rays of my dreamy soul. 

Instead of dreaming, better 'twere 

If for my future I should care; 

And yet I ask, what care have I 

Since God doth guard me from on high, 

The songs which from my lips then roll 

Are mayflies of my care-freed soul. 

But if a lovely maid I meet, 

My thoughts to inner depths retreat; 

And then into her eyes I gaze, 

As on the lake fall starry rays. 

The songs which from my lips then roll 

Are roses of my love-bound soul. 



SELECTED LYRICS 237 

If mine her love, my joy wine crowns, 
If not, then wine my sorrow drowns, 
And where wine in abundance flows, 
There gayety right swiftly grows- 
The songs which from my lips then roll 
Are rainbows of my misty soul. 

Yet, while I hold the glass in hand, 
The yoke oppresses many a land; 
And joyous as the glasses ring, 
As sadly bondsmen's fetters cling; 
The songs which from my lips then roll 
Are clouds that overcast my soul. 

Why do men dwell in slavery's night? 
Why burst they not their chains in fight? 
Or do they wait till God some day 
Shall let rust gnaw their chains away? 
The songs which from my lips then roll 
Are lightning flashes from my soul. 



THE IMPRISONED LION. 
(A rab oroszlan.) 



The boundless desert is his home no more, 
Within an iron cage he now must roar. 

He, so debased, the desert's royal king, 
To stand thus fettered by an iron ring! 

To trifle with his sorrow let us cease; 
'Tis desecration to disturb his peace. 



238 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



If of his liberty he is bereft, 

Its memory still be to his heart's ease left. 

If to the tree his near approach be stayed, 
Let him at least enjoy a little shade. 

See in his mien what majesty is found. 

And with what grandeur do his looks abound! 

Although from him his liberty they took, 
The}- could not take his proud, heroic look. 

Even as the pyramid he seemeth grand. 
Which towered above his own loved land. 

His memory fondly leads him back again; 
Once more is he upon his native plain, 

That vast expanse of wilderness where o'er 
The wild simoom hath raced with him of yore. 

O glorious land! O happy days and sweet' 
But hush! He hears the prison-keeper's feei. 

And lo! the world of fantasy hath fled 
When cruel keeper smites him on the head- 

A stick — and such a boy commands him now 
O heavenly powers to this he has to bow. 

Hath he become so pitiful and poor, 
This deepest degradation to endure? 

Behold the stupid herd, the gaping crowd 
At his humiliation laugh aloud. 



How dare they breathe, for should he break his 

chain 
Nn soul of them from hell-fire would remain! 



SELECTED LYRICS • 239 

IF BORN A MAN, THEN BE A MAN. 
(Ha ferfi vagy, legy ferfi.) 



If born a man, then be a man, 

And not a wretched grub 
That pusillanimously bears 

Fate's every knock and rub! 
Fate is a cur that only barks' 

But fears a manly blow; 
A man must ever ready be 

To bravely meet his foe! 

If born a man, then be a man, 

And boast not of the fact; 
More clear tongued than Demosthenes 

Are valiant thought and act- 
Build up, destroy, but silent be 

When finished; spare display 
Just as the storm that does its work 

Subsides and dies away. 

If born a man, then be a man, 

Hold honor, faith, thy own; 
Express them even if thy blood 

Should for thy creed atone. 
Forfeit thy life an hundred times 

Ere thou thy word dost break; 
Let all be lost, 'tis not too much 

To pay for honor's sake. 

If born a man, then be a man, 

And bargain not away 
Thy independence e'en for all 

The great world's rich array. 
Despise the knave who sells himself, 

The man who has his price! 
"A beggar's staff and liberty'' 

Be ever thy device! 



240 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



If born a man, then be a man, 

Strong, brave and true as steel! 
Then trust that neither man nor fate 

Can crush thee 'neath their heel. 
An oak be, which the hurricane 

May shake and break and rend; 
But ne'er possess the power its frame 

Or giant force to bend! 



SONG OF THE DOGS AND WOLVES. 
(A kutyak es farkasok dala.) 



I. 



How fierce the tempest blows — 
The winter's cruel twin: 

The chill and freezing snows 
To reign outside begin. 



What heed we who enjoy 
The kitchen corner snug? 

Where masters kind supply 
Straw and a cosy rug. 

For food we have no care; 

When masters gorge their meat, 
The remnants are our share, i 

Which we may freely eat. 

Full oft we feel the log 

That hurts, but then, we own 
That nothing harms a dog — 

A fact too widely known! 



SELECTED LYRICS 241 

When' master's wrath is o'er, 

And he has ceased to beat 
Grateful we crawl before 

And lick his gracious feet. 

II. 

How fierce the tempest blows — 

The winter's cruel twins: 
Chill rain and freezing snows 

To reign outside begin. 

Empty the country is, 

Our home this barren space; 
Not e'en a bush affords 

To us a hiding place. -g : 

Without 'tis bitter cold, 

And hunger fierce within; 
Relentlessly pursue 

These foes of ours, born twin. 

Besides those foes, a third — 

The loaded gun— we dread, 
When the milk-white snow 

Is stained with bloody red. 

We freeze, we starve, we feel , 

The shot wounds in our breast; 

Hard is our lot, but yet 

With freedom we are blest! 



I AM A MAGYAR. 
(Magyar vagyok.) 



A Magyar I ! The splendor of my land 
Xaught can surpass. She is the loveliest 

Upon the globe, .and countless as the sand 
The beauties are she bears upon her breast. 



242 



ALEXANDER PET0FI 



In mountains she is rich and from their height 
One casts his glance beyond the distant sea; 

-Tier fertile plains arc wide, you think they might 
Extend to where the world's end seems to be. 

A Magyar 1! By nature am I sad 

As are the first tunes of my nation's lay. 
And though I often smile when I am glad, 

I never laugh, however I be gay. 
But when the utmost joy doth fill my breast, 

In freely flowing tears breaks out my glee: 
Yet joyous seems my face when most depressed. 

For none shall ewer dare to pity me. 

A Magyar 1! With pride 1 cast my eye 
Over the sea of history past and see 

Vast, mighty rocks that almost reach the sky; 
They are my nations deeds of braver}'. 

We, too, were acting once on Europe's stage. 
And ours was not an empty, useless role! 

When, at the play, our sword we drew in rage- 
All feared us. as the child the thunder's roll. 

A Magyar I ! But what is that to-day? 

Ghost of a glorious past that restless stirs 
At dark, but which the midnight spells must lay 

In dreamless sleep down is his sepulchres. 
How mute we are! Our neighbors nearest by 

Scarce gain a sign that we are yet alive; 
One brother will the other vilify 

And in our land, but wrong and falsehood thrive- 

A Magyar I! But O! how I deplore 

To be a Magyar now! It is a shame 
That while the sun in brightness shines all o'er, 

Xo gleam or dawn to us as yet there came; 
Still all the wealth on earth could not suffice 

My love of thee dear spot, e'er to efface; 
Dear native land, 1 still must idolize 

An<4 love thee still in spite of thy disgrace! 



NtW YORK, N. Y, 



LIBRARY 



SELECTED LYRICS 243 

A HOLY GRAVE. 
(Szent sir.) 



Far, very far away, 

Whence in the gentle spring, 

To us the swallows come; 
Far, very far away, 
Where in our wintry days, 

The swallow has her home. 

A holy grave doth rise, 
Close to the green sea-waves 

That wash the yellow shore; 
A weeping willow's branch, 
A wild shrub's crape-like veil 

This lone grave shadeth o'er. 

Beside this single shrub, 
There comes no thing to mourn 

The glorious dead's decease, 
Who for a century, 
After a busy life, 

Sleeps here in endless peace. 

He was a hero bold, 

The last-left valorous knight. 

Who for fair freedom fought: 
But how could fate protect 
One on whom his own land 

Ingratitude had wrought- 

He into exile went, 
Lest his degenerate land 

He should be forced to see, 
And, seeing, he should curse; 
While from an alien shore 

He looks with charitv. 



244 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 



And here, day after day, 

He watched the clouds that came 

From his own dearest home. 
Was it the sunset glow, 
Or yet his country's shame 

That burned in heaven's dome? 

He often sat to catch 
The murmur of the waves 

That move the rolling sea. 
He almost dreamed he heard 
His country once again, 

Was happy, proud and free! 

That he should hear once more 
His native land was free 

Was still his fond belief. 
And for his freedom's news 
He waited, until death 

Brought him most sweet relief. 

At home, even now, his name 
Is hardly known. But one 

Remembers him, the bard. 
Forgotten he would be — 
Sang not the bard of him, 

Freedom's eternal guard! 



THE WIND. 
(A szel.) 



To-day, a soft, mild, whispering breeze am I, 
As gently o'er the greening fields I rove, 

Breathe kisses on the faces of the buds, 

My sweet, warm kiss, the pledge of my true love. 



SELECTED LYRICS 245 

"Bloom, bloom! fair daughters of the balmy spring!" 
Soft whispering in their ears 'bloom! bloom!' I say 

Then, as their coverings they shyly ope, 
In bliss upon their breasts I faint away. 

To-morrow though I am the shrill-voiced wind, 

The bush in fear shall tremble in my path, 
Beholding in my hands the whetted knife, 

It knows I shall -deprive it of its green. 
"Ye foolish, trusty maidens fade away!" 

I hiss unto the flow'rs and withered, sere 
They fade away upon the autumn's breast, 

While cold and scornful I but laugh and jeer. 

To-day a meek breeze I, as o'er smooth streams 

I peacefully and calm float through the air 
Observed but by the little, weary bee, 

Who, flying homewards from the meads, doth bear 
Her burden at her side, — the gathered sweets 

For honey-making, — culled from flowers bright. 
The tiny creature on. my palm I bear 

And thus assist her in her weary flight. 

To-morrow, once again, the tempest mad! 

O'er angry seas on my wild steed I'll ride, 
Cause in my wrath their dark-green locks to shake, 

The lord like, who by stubborn child's defied. 
I'll sweep the sea, and if a ship I meet, 

Her wings, the flult'ring sails I'll wrest. 
And with her mast write on the waves her fate: 

"No more wilt thou in any harbor rest!" 
— | o 

THE FLOWERS. 
(A viragok.) 

Out in the field to where I go, 

Midst blade o' grass fair flowers grow. 

The flowers ; sweet, which here I see 

How precious are you all to me. 



246 ALEXANDER PETGFI 

As had I met a 'beauteous maid 
My heart throbs with the joy conveyed, 
Plant flowers fair, — when (nice 1 die, — 
Above the grave wherein 1 lie. 

Beside the flowers I take my seat 
And then with friendly chat I greet. 

E'en love's confession make to them. 

Do you love me? I ask of them 
They answer not. but 1 can tell 
They understand me very well. 

Plant flowers fair, — when once I die, — 

Above the grave wherein 1 lie. 

Who knows? Does not the flower's scent 
Its very language represent? 

We grasp it not. it doth not reach 
Our souls as does sweet human speech; 
.Man's soul the sweet perfume enjoys, 
lint does not hear the spirit voice. 

Plant flowers fair. — when once I die. — 
Above the grave wherein 1 lie. 

Aye. aye! this scent is speech, e'en more! 

It is a song, a song of spirit lore. 
When 1 cast off this earthly clay 
And in the grave am laid away. 

I'll no more scent that sweet perfume 

I'll hear the song within my tomb! 

Plant flowers fair, — when once I die T — 
Above the grave wherein I lie. 

This scent, the flowers' melody. 

At one time be my lullaby. 

The gentle tune of which shall bring 
Sweet sleep to me each coming spring. 

From spring to spring these songs shall thril 

My soul, my sleep with bright dreams fill. 
Plant flowers fair, — when once I die. — 
Above the grave wherein I lie. 



SELECTED LYRICS 247 

RAGGED HEROES. 
(Rongyos vitezek.) 



I also could with rythm and rhyme 

My poems clothe and deck them out, 
Just as a dandy it behooves 

To dress for some gay ball or rout. 

But then these cherished thoughts of mine 
Are not like fashion's idle toys, 

Who find, beperfumed and begloved, 
In fancy garb their chief est joys. 

The clash -of swords, the cannon's roll 
Have died in rust; a war begun 

Is now without a musket waged — 
But with ideas shall be won. 

I, too, the gallant ranks have joined, 
And with my age am sworn to fight, 

Have in command a stalwart troop, 
Each song of mine a valiant knight. 

My men, 'tis true, are clad in rags, 
But each of them is brave and bold; 

We gauge the soldier not by dress 
But by his deeds of valor bold. 

I never question if my songs . 

Will live beyond me; 'tis but naught 
To me; if they are doomed to die 

They fall at least where they have fought. 

Even then the book shall hallowed be 
Wherein my thoughts lie buried deep; 

For 'tis the heroes' burial place 

Who for the sake of freedom sleep. 



248 



ALEXANDER PETOEI 

FIRE. 
(Tiiz.) 



Not like the willow tree rots in the swamp 
Do I want pass away. My death 

Be like the oak's on high which is consumed 
By lightnings fiery breath. 

Give me the flaming fire! For fish and frogs 
The water might be good enough. 

For poetasters too, who froglike croak 
Their labored doggerel like stuff- 

A flaming fire! Thou art my element! 

Throughout the days of long ago 
My bod\- often froze, my soul howe'er 

Was e'er surcharged with fiery glow. 

Come, pretty little maid. I love thee well 

Come, passionately I love thee! 
But fiery be thyself, or else: good-bye 

My love, we two can not agree. 

Innkeeper, bring a jug of wine! but heed: 

Good wine! If water}" at all. 
That jug flies either at thy head or I 

Shall promptly smash it on the wall. 

This is the only life that's worth to live: 
With fiery maid and fiery wine! 

And what I have almost forgot to name: 
We must not miss, the song divine. 

Then sing a song! a fiery song! The tongue 
Shall rot within the human frame 

Which can not sing a song from which the heart 
Is not inspired by holy flame. 






SELECTED LYRICS 249 

Not like the willow tree rots in the swamp 
Do I want pass away. My death 

Be like the oak's on high which is consumed 
By lightning's fiery breath. 



MY JULIA IS MINE, AT LAST. 
(Birom vegre Juliskamat.) 



My Julia is mine at last, 

Forever mine alone, 
To God and all the world, I can 

Proclaim her as my own. 

In joyful mood now, I have not 

Forgotten former woe, 
Shall I now laugh, shall I now weep 

With joy, I do not know. 

Am I the man who until now 

But misery had seen? 
And to whose heart, each day of life 

A dreadful curse had been? 

Am I indeed the man who now 
With happiness is blessed? 

No man throughout the world has e'< 
Bliss like my own possessed. 

Most eagerly the fall of leaves, . 

The autumn I expect, 
The autumn will my life's spring be: 

I'll be bridegroom-elect. 



250 A^EX A N D E R P ETC EI 

Into the future I not look. 

I do not even try. 
This future is like noonday-sun. 

It would blinden my eye. 

1 rather look into the moon, 

Into the yesterday. 
It is as fair, but gentler is 

The pale moon's silver ray. 

Mow glorious this yesterday 

Which at her home 1 spent. 

Eternity 'tis in its bliss 

That one day's great event. 

'Tis then I drew her to my side. 

.And burning hot the breath 
Which, when 1 kissed her ruby lips. 

-My lips encountereth. 

My own lips flamed up from that kiss! 

E'en now 1 feel the glow, 
As if a melting sun's fierce flames 

Would still within me flow. 

I do not even fear the grave. 

Its cold can do no harm. 
These flames shall even there my heart 

Protectingly keep warm. 
— i o 

THOU ART MINE. 
(Te az enyem. en a tied. . .) 



Thou art now mine and I am thine. 

And all the world is ours! 
Though high above does brightly shine 

The sun in midday hours: 
Xot e'en the sun on high. 
Can aiwwhere espy 
Such happy folks as you and I. 



SELECTED LYRICS 251 

.My rose is but a little maid, 

My knee holds her secure, 
My rose is but a little maid, 

Her soul is big and pure. 
My sweetheart's soul is grand, 
And wide its bounds expand 
It is as big as fairyland. 

Cometh my Julia to my mind, 

I can see in the dark, 
In her white soul, bright eyes I find 

The light creating spark. 
These two torches suffice 
To see with my own eyes 
The glories of the Paradise. 

Remembrest thou, of course thou must, 

Dear mother, when 1 played 
Before our house, how I would thrust 

Myself ahead, and made 
The boys to do the thing 
I wished about to bring? 
I wanted to become the king! 

Well, mother dear, I hear you yet 

A-laughing at thy boy, 
Who on his childish head had set 

As crown, a broken toy. 
But God Almighty, He 
Had heard my childhood's plea, 
Indeed a king he made of me! 

] am a king since mine thou art 

Sweet Julia! mine alone! 
Xot on my head, within my heart 

The crown which now I own. 
God bless thee Julia dear, 
No king on earth my peer, 
Since thy sweet love crowns my career! 



252 ALEXANDER PETGF1 

HOW BEAUTEOUS IS THE WORLD. 
(Mily szep a vilag.) 



Did I once curse my life 

As <»ne big. dreadful strife? 
Did through the world affright 

I roam, like ghosts at night. 
Indeed, I blush with shame, 
To have injured thy fame 

Thou life, which art so sweet, 

Thou world, with bliss replete- 

My wild youth's stormy days 
Have calm become. The rays 

Of heaven's smiling eye 

Spread light beneath the sky, 
Like loving mothers do 
When they their babies view. 

Indeed, our life is sweet. 

The world with bliss replete. 

Each day that comes and goes 
Weeds out one of my woes. 
A garden is once more 
My heart, and by the score 
Sweet flowers therein bloom 
Each with a rich, perfume. 
Indeed, our life is sweet, 
The world with bliss replete. 

No more with diffidence 

I view faith; confidence 

My soul gladdens anew, 

As if friends, good and true, 

Who had been absent long 

Around me now would throng. 
Indeed, our life is sweet, • 
The world with bliss replete. 



SELECTED LYRICS 253 

Friends of my youth! Come nigh, 

And nearer still, for I 
Shall nevermore offend 
By mistrusting a friend. 

Mistrust, — the devil's own, — 

Forever I disown. 
Indeed, our life is sweet, 
The world with bliss replete. 

And comes then to my mind, 

The flower which had entwined 

Itself around my heart, — 

A fair dream's counterpart, — 
The brown maid I adore 
Who loves me with loves lore: 

Indeed, then life is sweet, 

The world with bliss replete. 



AT THE END OF THE YEAR. 
(Az ev vegen.) 






Thou goest; thy course is run, old year! 

Well go! But stay, pass not alone; 
Dark is the next world, so one might 
Be led astray; my song shall light 

The road, and thus thy way be known. 

Again I grasp my good old lute, 
Once more I touch its tuneful strings; 

It has been mute, but I will try 

To conjure its old melody, 
If still it passionately sings. 



254 ALEXANDER I'LTOFI 

If e'er thou sangest sweet. let now 
Ihe mellowest lay thy strings outpour; 
A song as fair as ever came 
From thee, and worthy of thy fame 

Shall solemnize this parting hour. 

Who knows? who knows? This may the last 
The last song be that I shall hear. 
Laying aside the lute to-day, 

Wake it again I never may. 
To die may be my fate this year. 

The army ui the God of Wars 
I joined and now go forth to fight. 
• A next year 1 may never see; 

But yet I hope my poetrj 
With blood dipped battle-blade to write. 

Sing. I beseech of thee; ( >, sing 
In accents silver-clear, my lyre! 

Let mild or thunderous be thy voice. 

Let it be sad, let it rejoice; 
But sing with passion and with fire. 

A tempest thou shalt be. which will 
O'er hill and vale with fury sweep; 

A zephyr be. which smilingly 

Lulls with its mellow lullaby 
The verdant meadows into sleep. 

Or yet a mirror be. wdierein 
My youth, my love, shall meet my eye. 

My youth which dies, but never wanes. 

My love which ever green remains. 
Eternal as the vault on high! 

O sing, sweet lute, thy sweetest tunes. 

Give all the song that in thee \s! 
The setting sun sheds with delight 
His rays from yonder flaming height 

And spends the remnant that is his. 






SELECTED LYRICS 



25; 



And if thy swan song it may be, 
Peal it forth mighty and sublime; 

Not to be lost of men with ease. 

But let it over centuries 
Come echoing- from the rocks of time. 



AT THE HAMLET'S OUTSKIRTS. 
(Falu vegen kurta korcsma...) 



Outside the hamlet, on the sands 
Of Szamosh's banks, an inn there stands, 
Which in the stream were mirrored clear, 
Did eventide not draw so near. 

The night draws nigh, the daylight wanes, 
And qui ft o*er the landscape reigns; 
The swinging bridge is safely bound, 
And darkness girds it all around. 

But, in the tavern, hark the noise. 
The laugh and shout of village boys. 
The sound of cymbals cleaves the air; 
The gipsy-player tarries there. 

"Come, pretty hostess, darling mine, 
Pray give us some of your best wine; 
Let it possess my grandsire's years 
With fervor such as is my dear's. 

"Strike, gypsy boy, strike up! I swear 
I want to dance a livelier air — 
My money all to you I roll; 
To-night I'll dance away my soul." 



256 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

But some one knocks. "My master says 
Too great the noise is that you raise; 
Unless in bounds your mirth you keep, 
He swears he cannot go to sleep!" 

"Bad luck to you! — your master tell 
That both of you can go to hell! 
Play, gypsy boy, for spite now play, 

Even if my shirt the piper pay. " 

Again a knock comes. "For God's sake, 

Pray do not such a turmoil make! 

I beg of you now to be still, 

My mother lies near here very ill." 

None answer her. The noise has ceased, 
Their passion quickly is appeased. 
Mute has become the gypsy's play, 
The boys in silence homeward straw 



TWILIGHT. 
(Alkony.) 



The sun is like a withered rose, 

Which, dropping, bends her weary head. 

Her leaves, just like his pallid rays, 

With sad smiles o'er the landscape spread. 

Mute and calm the world around me 

I hear the distant curfew bell; 
From heaven or dreamland come the sweet 

And distant sounds, I cannot tell. 

Attentively I list, I love 
Sweet reveries' adagios: 
God knows what I feel and feel not — 
And where my mind, God only knows. 



SELECTED LYRICS 257 

AUNT SARAH. 

(Sari neni.) 



Upon the threshold sits, by age bent down, 
Aunt Sarah, bowing low her silver crown; 
An eyeglass rides upon her bony nose, 
I fancy her own funeral shroud she sews. 
Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, 
When "Darling Sally" you were named by all? 

What heretofore she did in dresses wear — 
The folds and creases — now her face doth bear; 
Clad now in faded rags, her dress I trow 
Must have been new some twenty years ago. 
Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, 
W!hen "Darling Sally" you were named by all? 

I almost freeze when I behold her head, 
Life's winter hath thereon its white snow shed; 
And like a stork's nest in the chimney there, 
Looks on her hoary head her straggling hair* ' ., 
Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, ' < 

When "Darling Sally" you were named, by all? 

Her eyes, once bright, have left their native place, 
Sunk in, and beautify no more her face. 
They faintly flicker in a ghastly gloom, 
As tapers left to burn in some death room. 
Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, 
When "Darling Sally" you were named by all? 

A barren plain, it seems, is now her breast, 
As if beneath not e'en a heart did rest. 
Her heart, not wholly dead, still pulsates there, 
And sometimes does its old emotions share. 
Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall, 
When "Darling Sally" you were named by all? 



ALEXANDER PET< 

Youth is a spendthrift, who will freely spend 
His wealth and charms, and does not apprehend 
The miser father— Age— who will s 
Gather the treasures spent, take them away. 
Aunt Sarah, do you still the days recall. 
When "Darling bally" you were 'named by all? 



HOMER AND OSSIAN. 



Where is the Greek, where is the Celt? 

They disappeared, like cities dealt 
\ deathly blow by ocean's flow 
Which swallowed them, we only know 
Where once they stood, because we >ee 
Their towers' spires above the 
These mighty towers still seen by man. 
Are y< »u : 1 lomer and ( )ssian ! 

A beggar one, of royal blood 

The other, but what is more odd 
The sinilarity we find: — 

The beggar and the prince — both blind! 
Who knows, did not both lose their sight 
i>y looking in the dazzling light 
Of their own soul, their glory bright? 

Great geniuses both! Did they 

With magic hand on their lutes play 

Divine command like, they to build 

FOr men a world, which their mind filled 

With thoughts inspiring, wonderful. 

Sublimely grand and beautiful ? 

Did you hear Homer? In his song: 

The thoundrous bolts, the passions strong • 

Eternal smiles oi peaceful joy, 

With dawn's brightness laughingly . toy, 



SELECTED LYRICS 



259 



The midday sun's gold rays spread o'er 
The sea's blonde waves and o'er the shore 
Of islands green, where gently play 
The demigods with human clay. 
Yea! Mortal men, — God's from above, — 
Unite to play thy plays: sweet love! 

And did you e'er to Ossian list? 

In northern sea's eternal mist, 

Above wild peaks, when thundrous storms, 

In dreadful nights the shapeless forms 

Let loose! his clarion voice is heard 

And all the nature seemeth stirred. 

With blooded hues, when like abed 
The sun had gone, the moonrays spread 
A spectre shroud o'er the horrid scene: 
The field o'er which the marching ghosts,- 
Of former days' the warrior hosts, — 
Led by their captains can be seen. 

All that is light and fair and bright 

Is in thy song, thou beggar-knight, 

• Homer! Thou art the world's delight. 

All that is drear, austere, severe 
Is in thy song thou royal seer. 
Prince Ossian! to mankind dear 
Are ye, Homer and Ossian! 



Proceed! Proceed to inspire men 

With your immortal songs! and when 

To centuries, milleniums, 

— Time 's pitiless, — the world succumbs: 

Your name, your fame shall e'er remain 

Untarnished, your laurels retain 

Their freshest green! and great you'll be 

Till time 's lost in eternity! 



ALEXANDER J'l-.i 

THE MOON'S ELEGY. 
(A hold elegiaja.) 



1 wonder why I am the moon? 

My ( rod! What arc my sii - 
Why is my misery so great, 

Why must from pain I vince? 
I'd rather be earth's humblest slave, 

Than here proud king of night, 
< >n earth in sandals walk, than here 

J n bi " its, spurred like a ki 
I'd rather smell the barroom's breath, 

Than starry flov s s nt; 
Is there a good man who does not 

( r'er my sad fate lament ? 
Each dog, each poet barks at me- 

These rhyming whittlers e'en 
Think, out of sympathy with them 

J am so pale-faced seen. 
J, sympathize with them, whose heart 

Is unmoved, but wh 
Move jto the tune of doggerel \ 

One from these fellows hears? 
'Tis true. 1 am pale faced, howe'er 

1 am not so fn >m w 
It is from wrothful ire, because 

Those foolish chumps below- 
Dare kinship claim, and look on me 

As were they chums of mine. 
And with them I would be engaged 

In guarding herds of swine. 
Once in a while I truly hear 

A God-born son of song. 
And blissfully I list to lays 

Which rise from passions strong. 
But until one such minstrel sings. 

What winnings must I hear! 



SELECTED LYRICS 261 

And how these poetasters thrive, 

And how they persevere 
To mew and blab! At evenings I 

Do actually fear 
To rise because their screeching song- 
Is sure to reach my ear. 
Just as I thought! There 's one right here! 

Look at him! How he sprawls, 
See-saws the air! He thinks he sings, 

In truth he only bawls. 
Lie sighs as does some gipsy lad 

Who just had come to grief, 
I wonder if his moans and groans 

Bring him any relief? 
What things he talks! Constantly asks 

That I should look and see 
What does just now his sweetheart do? 

All right! I grant his plea. 
Well then, your sweetheart just now crawls 

Out of the oven door, 
Brings forth the baked potatoes which 

She had put in before. 
She eagerly bite»s into one 

Oh! what a face she makes! 
She burned her lips, her yell and howl 

All of the household wakes! 
O! What a face! well you deserve 

To have such just a belle! 
Now, having told you what she does 

There 's but one thing to tell: 
Pray, sing no more, but sneak away 

And go, yes, go to hell. 

o 

ROSEBUSH ON THE HILLSIDE GROWS. 
(Rozsabokor domboldalon.) 



A rosebush on the hillside grows; 
Come; darling, on my breast repose- 
Thy love then whisper in my ear, 
Let me that joyful story hear! 



ALEXANDER PET0FI 

Within the Danube's rushing waves, 
The sun it, seems, its shadows laves, 
And o'er them sways and glows in glee, 
As I sway thee upon my knee. 

It has been said of me, that I 

Am atheist and God deny; 

Yet even now 1 pray intent. 

To read thy heart-beats I am bent. 

o 

AT THE END OF SEPTEMBER. 
(Szeptember vegen.) 

The garden flowers still blossom in the vale, 

Before our ho,use the poplars still are green; 
But soon the mighty winter will prevail; 

Snow is already on the mountain seen- 
The summer sun's benign and warming ray 

Still moves my youthful heart, now in its spring; 
But lo! my hair shows signs of turning gray. 

The wintry days thereto their colors bring. 

This life i> short; too early fades the rose; 

To sit here on my knee, my darling, come; 
Wilt thou who on my breast dost now repose, 

Not kneel, perhaps to-morrow '>'er my tomb? 
O! tell me. if before thee 1 should die. 

Wilt thou, with broken heart, weep o'er my bier, 
Or will some youth efface my memory. 

And with his love soon dry the mournful tear? 

If thou dost lay aside the widow's veil, 

Pray hang it o'er my tomb. At midnight I 
Shall rise, and. coming forth from death's dark vale 

Take it with me to where, forgot, I lie, 
And stanch with it my ceaseless flowing tears, 

Flowing for thee who hast forgotten me, 
And bind my bleeding heart, which ever bears, 

Even then and there, the truest love for thee. 



SELECTED LYRICS 



263 



MASTER PAT6. 
(Pato Pal ur.) 



Like an enchanted prince, beyond 
The famous Nowhere's mighty pond, 
Lives in a hamlet all alone, 
A Mister Pato, grouchy grown. 
Ah! what could be made of this life: 
Would there be here a young, fair wife, 
Master Pato's answer is: 
"We have lots of time for this!" 

The ancient home threatens to fall: 
The plaster 's peeled of from the wall, 
The winds took of the roof a piece, 
And now and then a shutter seize, 
Let's make repairs, or by and by, 
We'll through the ceiling view the sky. 
Master Pato's answer is: 
"We have lots of time for this!" 

The garden 's bare, howe'er the field, 
Does all the richer harvest yield 
Of poppies and dandolines, 
And choicest weeds of all designs. 
Why do the farm hands hang, around? 
Why 's rust upon the ploughshares found? 
Master Pato's answer is: 
"We have lots of time for this!" 

His fur-cloak and his pantaloon, 
So threadbare are that both shall soon 
Just fit but for mosquito nets, 
Does ever he new garment gets? 
The stuff has been bought long ago, 
The tailor must be sent for though. 
Master Pato's answer is: 
"We have lots of time for this!" 



264 ALEXANDER PET0FI 

And thus he passes all his days. 

His fathers gave him means and ways. 

And rich inheritance, but he 

Of misery is never free. 

Look 'not upon his faults with scorn: 

As a Magyar he was born. 

And his country's motto is: 
"We have lots of time for this!" 



ON A RAILROAD. 

(Vasuton.) 



I am in raptures, happy, gay: 

Glorious scenes now greet my eye. 
Only the birds ere now could fly, 

But men can also fly to-day. 

Fleet-winged thought or venturous mind. 

We'll in the race with you compete. 

Spur on your horse! A splendid heat! 
We shall, withal, leave you behind. 

Hills and vales, seas, men and trees. 

What else I pass God only knows; 

My wonder, my amazement grows, 
Viewing these misty sceneries. 

The sun runs with us as in dread 

Of quick pursuit— a madman's thought — 
By devils who, if him they caught, 

Into small fragments then would shred. 

He ran and ran and onward fled. 
But all in vain! He had to stop, 
Tired, on a western mountain top: 

Blushing with shame, his face is red. 



SELECTED LYRICS 265 

But in our ride we still proceed; 

We weary not, feel no fatigue; 

And, rolling up league after league, 
To reach new worlds shall yet succeed. 

A thousand railroads men shall build 
Throughout the earth, till endless chains 
Or iron lines, like human veins, t 

The world with healthy life have filled. 

The railroads are the veins of earth; 
Culture and progress prosper where 
They cause pulsations in the air; 

To nation's greatness they give birth . 

Build railroads,, more than heretofore; 

You ask whence you shall iron take? 

The chains and yokes of slavery break; 
Let human slavery be no more! 
o ■ 

MY WIFE IS DEAD. 
(Meghalt a felesegem.) 



My wife I loved is dead, 

Satis tarde quidem, 
All my hopes have fled, 

Debuisset pridem. 
As housewife she was fine 

Cuncta dissipavit, 
She hated beer and wine 

But semper potavit- 
Oh! thou most cruel death. 

Cum sero venisti? 
Where's my Elizabeth! 

Quam bene fecisti! 
To church I wend my way, 

Adibo popinam! 



266 ALEXANDER PETCFI 

And for her soul Ell pray, 

Moerorem deponam! 
I wish she would return. 

Quod Deus avertat. 
Ed fast, my meals I'd spurn, 

Ut ibi maneat. 
Ed hold her in esteem. 

Crinium tractibus, 
To kiss her, my one dream 

Per dorsum fustibus 
What am I now to do? 

Ducam pulchriorem, 
Ell say to the world adieu, 

Quaeram meliorem! 



MY MOTHERS HEN. 
(Anyam tyukja.) 



Well, this is rich! The hen housed in the room! 

Good mother hen. art happy I presume- 

God has been good to thee to be kept, where 
My own good mother takes of thee good care. 

Right here thou art allowed to hop around, 
On trunk and table e'en thou hast been found. 
Right in the room thou hast been cackling loud, 
And not chased out, to stay thou wert allowed. 

They would not chase thee out, oh no! indeed! 

As if thou wert a dove, the choicest feed 

Is sought for thee, fine grains of corn and wheat, 
Xo prince receives more wholesome food to eat. 



SELECTED LYRICS 267 

But then, good mother-hen, for all this, I 
Expect of thee that thou wilt truly try 

For my own mother each and every day; 

— She needs it, don't forget! — fresh eggs to lay. 

And now, my short-tailed dog, I talk to thee, 
Just prick thy ears and listen now to me: 
A faithful servant thou hast been till now, 
And always well behaved, I must allow. 

Just list', my good old dog and don't forget, 
For chicken meat thy teeth thou must not whet- 
Thou and this hen must e'er as friends be known, 
My mother does no other chicken own. 



NATIONAL SONG. 
(Nemzeti dal.) 



Rise, Magyar; 'tis the country's call! 
The time has come, say one and all: 
Shall we be slaves, shall we be free? 
Thjs is the question, now agree! 
For by the Magyar's God above 

We truly swear, 
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke 

No more to bear! 

Alas! till now we were but slaves; 
Our fathers resting in their graves 
Sleep not in freedom's soil. In vain 
They fought and died free homes to gain. 
But by the Magyar's God above 

We truly swear, 
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke 

No more to bear! 



268 A I . E X A X D E RIM l T F I 

A miserable wretch is he 

Who fears to die, my land, for thee! 

His worthless life who thinks to be 

Worth, more than thou, sweet liberty! 
>Rnv by the Magyar's God above 

We truly swear. 
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke 

No more to bear! 



The sword is brighter than the chain, 
Men cannot nobler gems attain: 
And yet the chain we wore, oh, shame! 
Unsheath the sword of ancient fame! 
For by the Magyar's God above 

We truly swear, 
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke 

Xo more to bear! 



The Magyar's name will soon once more 
Be honored as it was before! 
The shame and dust of ages past 
Our valor shall wipe out at last. 
For by the Magyar's God above 

W'e truly swear. 
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke 

Xo more to bear! 



And where our graves in verdure rise 
Our children's children to the skies 
Shall speak the grateful joy the}' feel. 
And bless our names the while they kneel- 
For by the Magyar's God above 

We truly swear, 
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke 
X T o more to bear! 



SELECTED LYRICS 269 

MY WIFE AND MY SWORD. 

(Felesegem es kardom.) 



Upon the roof a dove, 

A star within the sky 
Upon my knees my love, 

For whom I live and die; 
In raptures I embrace 

And rock her on my knees, 
Just as the dewdrop sways 

Upon the leafy trees. 

But why, you surely ask, 

Kiss not her pretty face? 
It is an easy task 

To kiss while we embrace! 
Many a burning kiss 

I press upon her lip, 
For such celestial bliss 

I cannot now let slip. 

And thus we pass our day, 

I and my winsome wife, 
Bright as a rare gem's ray 

Has been our wedded life. 
A friend — my sword — it seems 

This love likes not at all; 
He shoots his angry gleams 

Upon me from the wall. 

Lock not on me, good sword, 

With eyes so stern and cold, 
There should be no discord 

Between us, comrades old. 
To women leave such things 

As green-eyed jealousy; 
To men but shame it brings, 

And you a man must be! 



270 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

But, then, if you would pause 

To think who is my love, 
You never would see cause 

Your comrade to reprove 
She is the sweetest maid 

She is so good and true; 
Like her, God has but made, 

I know, a very few. 

If thee, good sword, again 

Shall need our native land; 
To seek the battle-plain 

Will be my wife's command. 
She will insist that I 

Go forth, my sword, with thee, 
To fight — if need, to die — 

For glorious liberty! 



THE FALLEN STATUE. 
(A ledolt szobor.) 



A monument stood on a mountain high; 
So loft}- was the mount, seemed to the sky 
To reach; the clouds its girding belt suggest, 
The noon sun on its shoulders took his rest. 

Upon this mountain top, a monument 

In bronze, majestic and magnificient 

Stood. There he holds a sword to action drawn, 

And waves aloft a banner to the dawn. 

How came this statue to the mountain top? 
Fell it from heaven? Did men carry it up? 
If heaven-born, 'tis sacred all the time; 
If built by men. still more is it sublime. 



SELECTED LYRICS 271 

It was the joint work of earth and heaven. 
To mortal men's toil God His help hath given; 
Miriad hands, at work for centuries, 
Achieved the shaping of this masterpiece. 

But it was done! The statue stood erect . 
All Europe looked at it with deep respect. 
All knees bend low, some with esteem sincere, 
While others crawl in dust, impelled by fear. 

The mountain stands, though barren is its crown. 
But where's the monument? Did its renown 
The heavens covet, and from here below 
Transplanted it into its realm? But no! 

An earthquake came, which shook it from its base, 
And then the storm-wind swept it from its place, 
Till thundering it fell. The statute's now 
Down in the valley, swallowed by the slough. 

My fatherland! Thou saintly monument! 
Dragged into the mire, all impotent, 
Three hundred years unmercifully bled, 
Then left in the foul swamp, — a living dead! 

Around thy head, which once the stars on high 
With gems to deck would with each other vie. 
Came worms of earth to crawl. It was supposed 
That bled to death thy life's career hath closed. 

My fatherland! Beloved fatherland! 

What sentiment was it, that I, unmanned 

By gruesome recollections of the past, 

Felt my heart quiver like a wind-tossed mast? 

Our woe begone! Our doelful days are o'er! 

The saintly monument which we adore 

We rescued from the slough into the air 

Of light and freedom and the sun's bright glare! 



272 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Come one! come all! Let .us its body clean, 
Untarnished shall it be, as it has been 
Of yore! Come all! The women with their tears, 
Men with their blood to wash the scars and sears. 

When in the former splendor it shall shine, 
We can retire to rest, dear friends of mine. 
But no! Xot even then! Xew tasks await 
Our undivided efforts for the state. 

We must replace the statue on the height 
Where once it stood in glorious splendor bright! 
From whence with sword and battle flag, unfurled, 
Looked dignified on the admiring world! 

Up, all of you, my nation's sires and sons! 
Disgrace on him who now his duty shuns. 
Esteem is his who truly pays his dues: 
Disgrace, — esteem! — between the two now choose! 



THE GOD OF THE MAGYARS. 
(A magyarok istene.) 



Away, ye narrow minds, who even now 

Dare harbor doubts about the future's days; 

For who will not a mighty God avow, 

His loving care for our home who gainsays? 

The times, the people's tempests, dire and dread, 
Is held by Him in His parental care; 

For centuries He has upheld our Land, 
To fight the robber foe from everywhere. 

"The times, the people's tempests, dire an dread, 

Would have scattered us, as if we were 
But dust; His saintly wings were o'er us spread — 
The gales past o'er our heads — and all was fair. 



SELECTED LYRICS 273 

The volumes of our story read, you'll trace 

His power divine on every page thereof; 
Like golden thread runneth His kindly grace 

Throughout our life, which he hath blessed 

with love. 
And thus we lived the thousand years that passed; 

And should these thousand years have lasted but 
That now, when we have reached the port, the last 

Waves shall us all unsparingly englut? 

Xot for a moment think that this can be; 

It would be sacrilege to think this e'en. t 

No human being would, of course not He, 

Upon His children play a trick so mean. 

The Magyar nation sinned, her sins were great; 

For all transgressions though she did atone. 
She has had virtues, too; rewards await 

Her still — 'rewards the future can't postpone. 

Thou, my dear home, wilt live because thou must! 

Sweet joys and glory be henceforth thy share! 
Forever freed of woe and care, 'tis just 

To look expectant toward a dawn most fair. 



FAREWELL. 
(Bucsu.) 



The sun had hardly dawned, when lo! it set. 

I had but come, and now I must depart. 
Scarce had I time to greet and kiss thee, dear, 

When duty calls and we again must part- 
God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, 
Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 



274 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

I carry now the sword and not the lute, 
The minstrel as a soldier now must fight. 

A golden star hath led me heretofore. 

The blood-red sky is now my guiding light 

God's blessing on you, pretty "little wife, 

Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 

"lis not ambition which prompts me to leave; 

No laurels rest where thou the roses red 
Of happiness hast placed upon my brow. 
^ Which 1 shall never take from off my head. 
God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, 
Good-bye, my heart, my. love, my soul, my life! 

"lis not ambition which prompts me to leave; 

Thou know'st ambition died within my soul. 
'Tis for my fatherland I sacrifice 

My life upon the field where cannons roll. 
God's blessing on you, pretty little wife. 
Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 

If none my dearest country should defend. 

Alone I would defend her with all might; 
Xow, when all rise to seek the battle plains, 

Shall 1 remain at home, afraid to fight? 
God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, 
Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 

I ask thee not to think of me when gone, 
The while I fight for fatherland and thee; 

Mjy love to thee is pure and well I know 

One thought alone thou hast, and that for me. 

God's blessing on you, pretty little wife. 

Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 

Perchance a crippled wreck I shall come home, 
But thou, my darling wife, wilt love me still; 

For. by our God, when 1 return, the same 

Pure love, as now, my heart shall ever thrill. 

God's blessing on you, pretty little wife. 

Good-bye, my heart, my, love, my soul, my life! 



SELECTED LYRICS 275 

THE AUTUMN HAS COME... 
(Itt van az osz, itt van ujra.) 



Autumn has come, autumn 's here 
Beauteous always, spreading cheer, 
Heaven only knows the reason, 
Why, but I best love this season. 

1 sit upon a nearby mound, 
Whence I with leisure look around, 
Softly murmur in the breeze 
The sere leaves falling from the trees, 

A-smilling spreads these autumn days 
All o'er the earth, the sun his rays, 
The loving mother will thus gaze 
Upon her sleeping offspring's face, 

This is not death o'er which we weep, 
The earth in autumn 's but asleep- 
All nature shows it is not dead, 
It rests awhile its weary head. 

It quietly disrobes, the gay 
Dress of summer 's put away. 

Its flow'ry dress again will don 
When roused from sleep by springtide's sun, 

Then sleep fair nature, gently sleep, 
Till o'er the earth spring's breezes sweep, 
And dream the brightest golden dreams 
' Of sunlit fields and laughing streams. 

My lute touched by my finger tips, 

A song arises on my lips, 

A lullaby for thee we sing, 

Fair nature sleep! sleep till the spring! 



276 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Come here, sit close to me my fay, 

But silent be, until my lay 

Dies out as dies the breeze which blows 
Above the stream which yonder flows. 

And when we kiss, thy lips, I' trust 
But gently touch my own, we must 
Not nature, which is gone to rest, 
In her sweet autumn sleep molest. 



HERE IS MY ARROW. 
(Itt a nyilam. . .) 



Here is my arrow! what shall I hit? 

The king upon his throne doth sit- 

His royal self my aim! I trust 

My aim was sure, he bites the dust. 

Now raise a cheer! 

For the republic cheer! 

The crowns are very costly things, 
Unfit for it are all the kings, 
, Crown for the kings? Why should we straddle 
A donkey with a velvet saddle? 
Now raise a cheer! 
For the republic cheer! 

His purple regal cloak we'll take 
For what it is best fit to make 

Therefrom: we make from it, of course, 
A blanket for a good old horse. 
Now raise a cheer! 
For the republic cheer! 



SELECTED LYRICS 277 

The sceptre in his iron fist 
We wrest from him, let us insist 
That he a spade and shovel take 
Wherewith his own grave he shall make 
Now raise a cheer! 
For the republic cheer! 

One only thing, I say just now: 
We have been foolish: I allow, 

Henceforth we shall have (better sense, 
Hold in contempt the king's pretense! 
Now raise a cheer! 
For the republic cheer! 



WHO WOULD BELIEVE? 
(Ki gondolna. . .) 



Who would believe that on this plain 
A few weeks since two armies stood, 

Engaged in fierce, destructive fight, 
Drenching the country with their blood? 

A direful day it was throughout, 
Foe facing here, foe charging there, 

Death in the van death in the rear; 
Sabres were flashing in the air. 

Then, like a troubled brow, 

The sky was cloudy, dark and wild. 

Now it looks pleasant, like the smile 
Upon the bright face of a child. 

The earth was like a hoary head; 
Covered with snow was all the scene; 
Now like the hopes of ardent youth 
The earth is dressed in brightest green. 



278 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

Then bullets whistled through the air, 
We heard the mighty cannon's roll; 

Above us now the nightingale 

Pours out in song her lovebound soul. 

Wherever then we cast our eyes 

We only saw death's ghastly show; 

But now the sweetest-scented flowers 
In beauteous efflorescence grow. 

Who would believe that on this plain 
A few weeks since two armies stood, 

Engaged in fierce, destructive fight, 

Drenching the country with their blood? 



WAR SONG. 
(Csatadal.) 






The trumpets blare, drums beat the call: 
Our boys are off to fight or fall; 

Forward! 
The bullets whistle, sabres clash 
And rouse the Magyar spirit rash. 

Forward! 

May freedom's flag wave on the hight, 
That all the world behold the sight! 

Forward! 
Unfurl the flag! the world shall see 
The proud inscription, "Liberty!" 

Forward! 

The world the Magyar valor knows, 
He bravely faces all his foes: 
Forward! 



SELECTED LYRICS 279 

A virtue God the Magyar gave; 
He made his nature truly brave: 
Forward! 

Uipon a ,gory ground I tread, 

A comrade's blood has made it red: 

Forward! 
A hero he! Can I be less? 
Boldly onward let me press: 

Forward! 

If our blood this earth must blot, 
If even to die here be our lot: 

Forward! 
For thee our lives we freely give, 
Dear Fatherland, that thou shalt live! 

Forward! 



IN MY NATIVE LAND. 
( Sziilof oldemen.) 



This landscape fills my heart with thrilling joy; 
Here, years ago, 1 dwelt, a happy boy; 
Flere was I born, in this fair village-place; 
I yet recall my dear old nurse's face; 
Her simple cradle song sounds ever near, 
And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. 

WJhen still a child I went abroad to roam; 
Now, a grown man, again I seek my home; 
Ah! twenty years since then have passed away. 
'Mid joy and sorrow, yea, 'mid toil and play. 
For twenty years it echoed in my ear, 
And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. 



280 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

My early playmates all, where now are ye? 

If one of you 'twere mine again to 'see, 

Most lovingly Ed clasp him to my breast. 

The thought that I grow old would be suppressed 

Yet this is now my five-and-twentieth year, 

And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. 

As fleet-winged birds flit round from bough to bough 
So do my restless thoughts flit backward now; 
As sweets are gathered by the honey-bees, 
So do my musings call glad memories — 
Each pleasant spot of old to me is dear — 
And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear- 

I am a child, I am a child again; 

I romp about, whistling an old refrain — 

Upon a hobby-horse 1 ride, my horse 

Is thirsty, to the trough I ride of course. 

It drank enough, now "go" I say with cheer 

And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. 

The sun has almost run his daily course, 
Tired are rider and his hobby-horse. 
Yes, I go home. Upon my nurse's breast 
Her lullaby half lulls to drowsy rest. 
As from her lips I catch the cadence clear, 
And "Mayfly, yellow Mayfly" still I hear. 
o 

THE DREAM. 
(Az alom.) 



The dream 

Is nature's gift to man most dear, 

His fondest hopes fulfilled appear; 

The poor man dreaming, feeleth not 

That he enhungered is or cold; 

In purple dressed he thinks his hut 

A mansion filled with wealth untold. 



SELECTED LYRICS 281 

The king in dreams 

Can neither judge nor grace bestow, 

In sleep, alike are high and low. 

The youth, while dreaming, rolls in bliss, 

His sweetheart gives and takes sweet kiss; 

But when I dream it seems to me 

I fight for the world's liberty! 



I PARTED FROM THE LITTLE GIRL 
(Elvaltam a leanykatol.) 



From the little girl I parted, 

My darling sweetheart who had been. 
Our last kiss left me broken hearted, 

The parting's sorrow was most keen. 
Ah, well! this happened long ago! 
The tide and time though ceaseless flow, 

The parting's bitter woe they heal, 
I do not feel it any more- 
The sweetness of that kiss of yore 

I'll not forget! e'en now I feel. 



THE POET'S MONOLOGUE. 
(Kolto lenni vagy nem lenni.) 



May they be damned, may they be cursed, 
The moments when conceived and nursed 
I had been into life by her, — 
To my poor mother I refer — 



282 ALEXAXRER PETOFI 

To be a bard, a man of woe. 
Poetry! thou art we know, 
To the candid human heart 
The false and spiteful counterpart 
Of spider's web, which pitiless 
Restrains us in its vile duress. 

This spider with its venomous fangs 
Imbibed much of my blood. The pangs 
Caused by the meshes' knotty ties 
I do not heed. I sacrifice 
My heart, if while I undertake 
The tainted-twisted mesh to break, 
J find these spiders' snares entwine 
This throbbing-tortured heart of mine, 
That I must pluck it out! Ah me! 
I yield it up! I must be free. 

But with my blood, oh no, indeed 
This murd'rous insect I'll not feed... 
What compensation is in store 
For all the heart's blood I outpour? 
Some worthless fame or work renown, 
Or even of fair glory's crown? 
All of this is but dazzling naught, 
X'ot worth to sacrifice one brought; 
And at the best, where is the bard 
Secure e'en of this poor reward? 

Henceforth within thy shores. I race 

O! ordinary commonplace 

And with thy tranquil water's flow 

I peacefully my wont ways go. 

There is no fear I hit a reef, 

Or mine be even a single leaf 

Of laurel wreath; fame and repute 

"Will not be mine and destitute 

Of bliss IT1 be, but Fll have rest 

And this itself does bliss suggest. 



SELECTED LYRICS 283 

Shall all my life I mute remain, 

To song though tuned my heart and brain? 

My very life an instrument, 

Of tuneful -song, shall it be sent 

Into oblivion? Fore'er 

Mlust I forego what 's sweet and fair? 

Not sing with joy, my woes be mute 

Forevermore discard my lute? 

Can ought the ocean's roaring wave 

Command to be still as the grave? 

I'll not be mute, poetry, no! 
Because to sing I can't forego, 
I nurture thee with the free flood 
Of my tormented heart's best blood. 
I do not care what is my fate, 
Remain unknown or plaudits wait 
My songs I'll sing and sing again. 
Inspired by joy, by hallowed pain 
I'll sing until my latest breath, 
Until my voice is stilled by death. 



THE BEGGAR'S GRAVE. 
(A koldus sirja.) 



A wild beast like who feels his death is nigh, 
The hoary beggar went into the plain, 

That in the prairy's heart might himself hie 
To die, and until then unknown remain. 

"Poor lads" who found his corpse had dug a hole 
And threw the body in. The beggar's staff 

Was used then for a slab, upon the pole 
They hung his bag; that was his epitaph. 



284 ALEXANRER PETOFI 

Where in the desert not a tree e'er grows 
The tiny hill stands with its unique sign: 

Fair nature- who on all thy aid bestows, 
Makest that grass and wild flowers entwine 



That lonely grave- And such is fate: 

Once in his life he rags and patches wore. 

While now the glorious sun did decorate 

His grave with flowers fair from nature's store. 



To 'him 'tis all the same, it matters though 
A great deal, that he now had found his rest. 

Who knows what perils did he undergo. 

What fateful tasks he was forced to contest? 



The hand, with which he used when hoary grown 
As a support that knotty, stout, good cane, 

When youth, force and strength had been his own: 
Had drawn a bright sword on the battle plain. 



He had been there, the midst of bloody strife! 

And of his precious blood he freely gave. 
Fought for his master's power and pelf and life 

W T ho let him famished then go to his grave. 



Well, he is dead... Forgotten now is all. 

The misery, also the battle cries. 
A deadly silence reigns Which doth appal. 

And undisturbed in dreamless sleep he lie: 



But now and then a songbird will descend 
Upon that staff and warble with a glee. 

W T hat song might sing that tiny feathered friend 
Where on the slab a beggar's bag we see? 



SELECTED LYRICS 285 

THE STORK. 
(A golya.) 



We have all kinds of birds, and man 

Prefers one for its plumage bright 
Or for the song wherewith it can 

The human heart fill with delight. 
The bird I love best can not sing. 

Is not a gaudy feathered thing 
But like myself, is back and white, 

Without a beauteous tail or wing. 

The stork 's my favorite, like me 
He dwells upon his lowland's planis, — 

My own dear home- — Still it might be 
That it my heart's best love enchains 

Because I've known him long. When I 

Yet, in my cradle whined, his cry 
I heard, my mind e'en now retains, 

His crackling call when he rose high. 

My childhood's years were his. My mind 

Was serious e'en when a lad. 
While chums of mine would pleasure find 

To drive the herd, I felt most glad 
When from a nearby hay stack viewed 
The trials of the stork's young brood, 

As they their flying lessons had 
To rise to higher altitude. 

The thought arose then in my brain, 

I cogitated long and deep: 
Why did not providence ordain 

That man too 'through the air may sweep. 
Like birds. True, we can walk, but I 
Aspired on wings to rise and .fly, - , ,. 

Instead upon the earth to creep, ; 
I" longed to reach, the starry sky. 



286 ALEXAXRER PETtfFI 

I longed to reach the starry hight: 
I envied e'en the sun who spread 

A covering of brightest light 

Over our own earth's hoary head. 

His heart's blood pours out every eve- 

What mean reward. — it made me grieve — 
To stab those who lignt's pathways tread 

Eair autumn season's golden days 

The children joyously salute. 
Good motherlike the season lays 

Into their baskets luscious fruit. 
The autumn is no friend of mine 
1 told him "keep your fruit and wine 

And scare not off my stork, you brute!" 

I felt depressed when I then saw 

Them gather and begin their flight; 

As for my wasted youth, with awe 
Looked after them and felt contrite. 

Upon the roof the empty nest 

With melancholy filled my breast, 
As if some mystic breath the sight 

Of my own future would suggest. 

With winter gone, earth casts away 
Its heavy coat of snowy white. 

It dons for spring a waistcoat gay, 

Embroidered green and light and bright: 

In springtide's days my own soul too 

Will clad itself in vestments new. 
To meet the stork. I with delight, 

Went forth into the distant blue. 

When later on, the spark afire: 
The boy a youth-to-be had grown. 

Beneath my feet the earth 's a pyre. 
And I resolve not to lie prone: 
• 1 mount a horse, as if the pace 



SELECTED LYRICS 287 

For blowing wind I'd make, I race, 

The reins e'en of my horse I've thrown, 
My swift run 's o'er the pnszta's face. 

I love the puszta; 't is where I 

Feel always home, where I am free, 

Where when I cast about my eye 
Naught will impede its sight. I see 

No mighty cliffs and rocks which look 

Like threatening ghosts, hear not the brook 
A-murmuring roll down when she 

The course to freedom's regions took. 

Say not the puszta is not fair, 

It is, but like a modest maid 
Prefers to hide from vulgar stare 

Her beauty with a dense veil's aid. 
Of course, does comrades, friends she hail, 
She promptly casts away the veil 

Spellbound they look and see displayed 
A beauty from some fairy tale- 

I love the puszta! Venturesome 

I cross it oft on my swift steed. 
When to remotest spots I come 

To which no footprints of men lead: 
Dismounting, lie down in the grass, 
As o'er the scene my view I pass, 

I see my stork in near-by reed. 

Within the puszta's very heart 

The stork and I our day dreams weaved 
The pond's depth seemed to be his part, 

The mirage my close heed received. 
And thus we two, the stork and I 
The best years of my youth see fly. 

He was my friend; I felt bereaved 
Did I not find him always nig'h- 



288 



ALEXAXRER PETOFI 



E'en now I love that bird, to me 
That stork appears to be the one 

Reality we do not see 

Only in dreams by fancy spun. 

And eagerly, year after year 

I wait that he again appear, 

And leaves he for a warmer sun, 
i bless mv friend to me most dear. 




ALEXANDER PETOFI 289" 



ALEXANDER PET6FI 

From a Lecture, delivered before the 

Petofi Sick and Benevolent Society 

of New York. 

''O Charity! thou fairest gift of heaven, 
thou family link of nations, thou work 
of their security, thou deliver of the 
of their security, thou deliverer of the 
Thus asked that immortal Chieftain of 
Liberty, Louis Kossuth. 

That realm has come. It surely has come 
to universal recognition among the Hungarians, 
of New York. Probably no nationality which 
enriches this proud Metropolis has so many 
and such well organized and so well conducted 
charitable societies as have the Magyars, and 
among the many, the Petofi Society occupies 
the high, the proud rank of being one of the 
oldest, one of the richest, one of the most 
generous. 

All its vocation is love, all its life is charity. 
The religion of charity has its apostolate, and 
to it is pledged its aid, "it hath a tear for pity, 
and a hand open as day for melting charity." 

The Petofi Society celebrates to-day the 
twenty-fifth anniversary of its existence. With 
pardonable pride it points to its work of the 



290 ALEXANRER PETOFI 

past, and enthusiastically it pledges itself to 
continue its work in the future. Though in the 
first instance it is a charity society, and thougn 
in its labor of love it knoweth no race, no creed, 
no religion, and is as broad and as wide as is 
the horizon from the mountain top, still it is also 
a Magyar patriotic body of Magyar patriotic 
men, who love their old home as they have been 
taught to love it by that sublimely great song- 
ster whose immortal name it has adopted, who 
love truth, honor, fraternity, benevolence and 
charity as they have been inspired to love it 
.by Alexander Petofi. 

Freedom and love, aims so incalculably valu- 
able to battle for, so divinely blissful to enjoy, 
so high and heavenly to die for their attain- 
ments, are the spring wells from which rise the 
songs of the world's sublimest songster— Alex- 
ander Petofi. His poetry "bears us on spotless 
wings far above the sensuous sphere of earth, 
and like the repentant tear which the Peri 
conveyed to the Angel, removes the crystal bar 
that binds the gates of Paradise, and reveals 
the golden ladder which leads from earth to 
heaven. 

This golden-tongued singer of songs, whose 
melodies are translated into thirty-two langu- 
ages, who lived for love and who died for his 
country, was born in the last hour of the last 
day of the year 1822, at Little-Koros, on the 
Magyar Lowland. His schooldays are his pur- 
gatory. From one he is expelled ; from another 



ALEXANDER PETOFI 291 

he runs away. Then he enlists as a common 
soldier in an Austrian regiment, then again he 
becomes a strolling company's ambitious actor, 
to find that he is a miserable failure . . . How 
he suffered !-friendless, penniless, cold, hungry. 
It was then that he sang : 

For sagest reason of their own 
The gods made mortal teeth of bone; 
Had mine been made of steel, they must, 
For want of use. have gone to rust. 

But "truth crushed to earth" lives, and his 
genius conquered. At the end of 1844 he is 
at Pest and the associate editor of a literary 
journal of high repute. Here, at the house of 
the editor-in-chief, Vahot, he meets Etelka, 
and falls in love with her. Before he ever 
plucked up courage to confess to her his de- 
votion, the young maiden of fifteen summers 
is carried off by grim death, and at her grave 
he pours out in passionate accents his deep- 
rooted holy affection. 

A whole volume of the. most delicious poetry, 
surcharged with hallowed pain, he published 
under the title, "Cyprus Lombok," and de- 
dicated it to her memory. Had he never written 
another line, his fame as a poet of the highest 
order would have been firmly established with 
that volume alone. 

What wonder that after this awful blow 
struck at him by cruel fate he grew sick of 
Pest and again went forth to ramble through- 



292 ALEXANDER PETY3FI 

out the land! He was famous already how- 
ever, and wherever he goes he finds a most 
hearty welcome. 

Song follows song, and never yet has a poet 
been living who sang such inspiring apotheosis 
to love and wine, surpassing himself only when 
he chants a national anthem, a martial song 
or a patriotic hymn. 

Wine and love are the elements of his soul, 
but he is always pure, always noble. 

Delightful night! I play now with my rose, 
Here in the garden, where a balmy zephyr blows. 
Quiet is all, a dog barks in the far; 

While in the high 

Beautiful sky 
Gleam brightly, moon and star. 

I would have been a faithless star, for I, 
God knows, would not remain up in the high. 
What care I for the star-lit heaven above? 

Yes, I know 

Down I'd go 
Ever}- night to thee, my love. 

To the highest pinnacle of mighty passion 
rose Petofi in the love songs he created in the 
year 1846, when he had the good fortune to 
meet Julia Szendrey, and married her. Let 
me give here but one : 

A rose bush on the hillside grows, 
Come, darling, on my breast repose. 
Thy love then whisper in my ear, 
Let me that joyful story hear. 



ALEXANDER PETGFI 293 

Within the Danube's rushing waves 
The sun. it seems, its shadows laves, 
And o'er them sways and glows in glee, 
As I sway thee upon my knee. 

It has been said of me that I 
Am atheist, and God deny; 
Yet even now I pray intent, 
To read thy heart-beats I am bent. 

In his and the other poems born of his love 
for her, the flame of oriental passion is found. 
Love and fatherland are the fountain-heads 
of all happiness, of all life. His love songs 
are full of boundless passion and tender emo- 
tion, but always pure and holy. He has genuine 
gayety, he praises the good suppers of good 
comrades, where wine flows, pleasantry 
abounds, ideas pour forth, poetry sparkless and 
causes a carnival of beautiful figures and good- 
humored people to move about in the human 
brain. He lives, it seems, but for wine, woman 
and liberty, yet his was a soul captivated by 
sublime and chaste beauty, and he impressed 
his inward nobleness on all of his beauteous 
word paintings of family life, landscapes, 
meditations. His sarcasm is bitter and cutting, 
at men's folies and vices he strikes telling 
blows. 

Petofi was Hungary's greatest poet. He is- 
one of the greatest poets of all of the world. 
Every smile, every tear of his was a song, and 
in palaces and in straw-thatched huts, in con- 
cert halls and in wayside inns are sung his 



294 ALEXANDER PETOFI 

sublimely beautiful songs, testifying to a popu- 
larity no other poet of any other language ever 
enjoyed; a popularity as enduring as are the 
stars on high! 

Then came the revolution. What a grand 
historic spectacle we behold! A nation rises 
in its might and struggles for constitutional 
rights, for historical existence, and inspired by 
the sublime battle hymns of Petofi, the Ma- 
gyars are victorious, until Austria calls the 
Czar, who treads with iron heels upon Hunga- 
rian liberty and crushes Magyar life. 

Two Hungarians have played a most cons- 
picuous part in this fight. One was that great- 
est of all the great exiled Magyars, whose very 
language, poured into men's hearts, was a 
lambent flame to animate with a more exalted 
and a diviner life — Louis Kossuth. The other 
was our own Petofi. 

On March 15, 18848, he published his famous 
"Talpra Magyar," and when his powerful 
battle hymn was first being read to the popu- 
lace of Pest, ten thousand hands were uplifted 
and as many voices echoed the oath: 

Now, by the Magyar's God above 
We truly swear, 

We truly swear, the tyrant's yoke 
Xo more to bear! 

He joined the Honved's and is in many a 
battle as an aide-de-camp of General Bern. In 
the winter of 1848-49 he came home, to Pest, 



ALEXANDER PET6FI 295 

and is blessed by pressing his new born babe 
to his heart. But of short duration was his 
visit. 

Thesun had hardly dawned, when lo! it set; 

I had but come, and now I must depart, 
Scarce had I time to greet and kiss thee, dear, 

When duty calls and we again must part. 
God's blessing on you, pretty little wife, 
Good-bye, my heart, my love, my soul, my life. 

And then he went again into the battlefield. 
With sword in hand he fought for a holy cause, 
while with the lyre he inspired his people to 
hold that cause sacred and dear to their hearts. 
How well did he succeed! Where the three 
hundred Spartans fell is well known to history, 
yet who can tell us how many Termopyles 
Hungary has? 

Petofi died as he hoped and prayed to die. 
Listen to his prayer: 

When ever} r nation wearing chains 
Shall rise and seek the battle plains. 
With flushing face shall wave in fight 
Their banners blazoned in the light; 

"For Liberty!'" 

Their cry shall be. 
Their cry from east to west, 
Till tyrants be depressed. 
There shall my heart's last blood flow out 
And I my latest cry shall shout; 
May it be drowned in clash of steel. 
In trumpet's and in cannon's peal; 

And o'er my corse 

Let tread the horse, 
Which gallops home from victory's gain, 
And leaves me trodden 'mid the slain. 



296 ALEXANDER PETOI/I 

At the battle of Segesvar, on July 31, 1849, 
he was last seen, and it is now settled beyond 
doubt that he fell there and was buried in the 
great common grave, where, after the battle. 
all the heroic dead found their eternal rest. 

His life lasted but twenty-six years ; his 
songs are immortal. Not if he had grown 
hoary in the service of his country, could he 
have grown greater in fame or stronger in the 
love of his people. 

As long as the Magyar will love his father- 
land, and as long as man will love woman and 
woman will love man, just so long will Petofi's 
memory live, and so long will his memory be 
kept green by us and by our posterity. He 
was an eternal light among the lights of heav- 
en, a central star amidst the central stars in 
the heaven of song. 




ALEXANDER PETOFI 



GLOSSARY. 



Alfold — ■ Lowland. The mighty stretch of fertile 
land in Hungary, between the Danube and the 
Tisza, extending to the Slavonian mountains. 

Delibab — Mirage, — Fata Morgana. 

"Cserebogar, sarga cserebogar" — Mayfly, yellow 
Mayfly, the opening line of a famous Magyar 
folk song. 

Arvaleanyhaj — Orphan girl's hair, a peculiar grass 
of the Magyar lowland, resembling the aigret- 
tes in modern millinery, couchgrass, quitch- 
grass, capillus veneris. 

Eger. — A city in the comitatus — county — of Heves 
famous for its wine. 

Puszta, — The Magyar prairy. 

"Szegenylegeny" — "Poor lad", the thief of the 
Magyar lowland, plying his vocation in the 
prairy and nearby hamlets. 

Kis-Kunsag, — that part of Hungary where the 
descendants of the ancient Kuns reside, on 
the lower Tisza's shore. 

Kukoricza Janos — John Kukoricza. In the Magyar 
language the given — christian name — is put 
after the family name. Kukoricza — Corn. 
Janos — John. 

Etelka. — The "ka" is a suffix, put to the name and 
denotes a term of endearment — te. diminutive. 
Etel — Ethel. Etelka — dear Ethel, or dear 
little Ethel. 



INDEX. 

Page 

Preface 3 

The Apostle . . . 9 

Childe John 76 

Simple Steve 125 

Cypress Leaves 149 — 174 

I '11 tell what until now # 149 

What would I not "have* done 150 

Where art 151 

Ah! How sadly 152 

Close that coffin 152 

If while alive 153 

I am here 154 

Up in the zenith 155 

I '11 not disturb thy peace 155 

For two long days . 156 

Why dost thou look into my room 157 

Why mockest nature 158 

Why should it be odd? 159 

Where art thou? 159 

She, the darling little girl 160 

I stood beside her grave 161 

It is not true 161 

Thou wert 162 

If but my friends would not 162 

I have wandered far away 163 

Come, Spring; come 164 

Time heals all wounds 165 

A tinge of blue 166 

Did I complain? 166 

How sad is life for me 167 

When sorely suffering 168 

The snow, the funeral pall 169 

If in her life 169 



Page 

Our hoary earth 170 

Within this room 170 

My mother, my mother 171 

The clock struck twelve 172 

Do I in vain 173 

Mysterious, enchanting 178 

Discarded flute 174 

SELECTED LYRICS. 

At Home 177 

On the Danube 178 

A funny story 178 

In the 'forest' 180 

What use 180 

From afar 181 

Longing for death . 182 

Wolf adventure 183 

I 184 

Living death 185 

The last charity 185 

Into the kitchen door I strolled 188 

Love is, love is a dark pit 189 

You cannot bid the flower 189 

At the cross road 190 

My little flute 191 

I 'cl like to sav 192 

At the funeral 192 

Mournful is the day 193 

Yoices from Eger 193 

The moonrays lave 195 

The best laid plans 196 

Through the village 197 

My grave 197 

On an ass the shepherd rides 198 

The Alfold 198 

The evening 200 

Bright star" 201 

Happy night 202 

How vast this world 202 

Two brothers 203 

Its raining 4 204 



Page 

Drunk for the Country's sake 205 

The leaf is falling 205 

The forest home 206 

The good old landlord 208 

The Magyar Noble 209 

Fair maiden of a village fair 210 

Bargain 212 

My love 212 

Streamlet and stream 213 

My fatherland 214 

Oh, judge me not . 215 

If God 216, 

I 'd be a tree 217 

The ruins of the inn 218 

My dreams 220 

Curse and blessing 222 

Sweet joy 222 

The Maniac 223 

I do not weep 220 

What is the end of man 226 

What is glory 227 

Majestic night 227 

Are they lovers 227 

Untability 228 

We were in the garden 228 

Poetic fancy 't was 229' 

I dream of gory days 232 

Bright blue the night 233 

One thought torments me 234 

The rosebush shakes - 235 

My songs 236 

The inprisoned lion 237 

If born a man, then be a man 239 

Song of the dogs and wolves 240 

I am a Magyar 241 

A holy grave 243 

The wind 244 

The flowers 245 

Eagged heroes 247 

Fire 248 

My Julia is mine 249 

Thou art mine 250 

How beauteous is the world 252 



Page 

At the end of the year 25'.'> 

At the hamlet 's outskirt 255 

Twilight 256 

Aunt Sarah N 257 

Homer and Ossian 258 

The ^ioon 's elegy 26' > 

A rosebush on the hillside grows 2C i 

At the end of September 2(52 

Master Pato 268 

On a rail road 264 

!My wife is dead 265 

My mother 's hen 266 

Notional song 267 

My wife and my sword 269 

The fallen statue 270 

The God of the Magyars 272 

Farewell 27.". 

The autumn has come 275 

Here is my arrow 276 

Who would believe 277 

War song 27<S 

In my native land 279 

The dream 280 

I parted from the little girl 281 

The poet 's monologue 281 

The beggar 's grave 28,'! 

The stork 285 



Alexander Petofi, extract from a lecture 289 

Glossary 297 



NEW YORK, M 



i' flARY 



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